I'm the Bad Guy, Duh
by seriousblahblah
Summary: There's a wizarding Russian tradition if you throw a burlap sack over a woman's head and kidnap her, you may keep her as your wife. Hermione thinks this tradition is absolutely bonkers, barbaric and wants no part of it. "I am not going to be your housewife!" Hermione shouted. Dohohov only grinned. "I'm the bad guy, da. What did you expect, a Disney fairytale ending?" Antomione
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: I wrote another story about Sirius/hermione called 'Well Worth the Trouble' where Antonin was the villain and had a sort of stalkerish obsession with Hermione. She ends up with Sirius in that, however, some readers expressed an interest in the darker wizard. So here it is! My take on the Antonin/Hermione trope and I warn you it's going to be a lot of mischievous fun...and no offense is meant to actual Russian people, the burlap sack thing is NOT actually a Russian tradition. The traditions described in this story are from my imagination. I have no familiarity with Russian culture although I find it fascinating and find the accent hot. Note: parts of Antonin's dialogue are deliberately misspelled to emphasize his accent. Also warning, this Hermione Granger/Antonin Dolohov story has some humour in it because that's just my writing style, I always include humour but it is serious too.  
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**`o`o~o~o`o`  
~o~**

**I'm the Bad Guy, Duh**

**~o~O~O`o`~O~O~o~**

**Song: ****Billie Eilish - Bad Guy**  
**Pairing: Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger. **

**Antomione. ****Set around Deathly Hallows**

~o~

Hermione breathed in heavily as she squeezed herself onto the side of the wall, trying to stay as flat as possible so that she wouldn't be seen by the wizard on the other side. The wizard who had also stolen her wand, so that she couldn't apparate.

His footsteps paused as he approached the brick wall, behind which she hid.

"Are v'you there, my flightly ptitsa?"

_Oh god, please Merlin, don't let him find me. Anyone but him,_ she prayed silently.

"V'you do not need to be afraid of me," the wizard spoke quietly and she wondered why he wasn't moving. He seemed to be standing perfectly still on the other side of the wall.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._ "He must know I'm here," Hermione thought in panic.

She looked around at the dark alley. Everywhere she turned there were fences and more walls, from the backs of buildings, but no doors or windows she could slip through or climb over to get away.

"Come out 'ov 'vur hiding," Antonin Dolohov said with his heavy Russian accent. "I won't hurt v'you."

Hermione Granger felt her heart beat wildly in her chest. She had to make a run for it; it was now or never.

Either she'd be caught by Dolohov or she'd make a mad dash down the alley and disappear into the nearest hiding spot she could find.

_One, two, three._ "Run!" Hermione told herself.

She set off at a mad pace down the cobbled stones of the alley. Her feet carrying her as fast as they dared.

A split second later she could hear Dolohov behind her and then he began hurling spells at her.

She dodged the first two spells, but then a well aimed _Arresto Momentum_ hit her square on the back and her legs and feet stopped moving.

Antonin chuckled behind her as he levitated her backwards towards him.

"Caught v'you."

~o~

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a/n: Btw I am not sure why, but in other Antonin Dolohov stories I've browsed, they have him speaking perfect English without an accent. I don't know why, I guess it's a personal choice, but I prefer to write my Antonin with a thick accent and not being Westernized at all but still having some very wild and traditional ideas. The way I write Antonin is my own unique characterization. I refuse to write Antonin Dolohov as either western/modern or politically correct, nor as either a sappy good guy or a monster. While I try to keep my Hermione Granger her regular Western, politically correct feminist self. So it is a cultural clash.


	2. Chapter 2

~o~

"V'You are mine now," Antonin said and lifted her face to examine his prize. His large fingertips dug into her cheekbones and lifted her chin this way and that as if he were deciding on buying a horse. He even touched her hair for a second as if seeing how soft it was, or how healthy she was. _"Mine,"_ he repeated more softly.

Hermione dodged her head back, away from his hands; she didn't want him touching her, let alone examining her like she was some specimen he was about to buy.

"Don't you mean the_ Dark Lord's_?"

Antonin looked like he wanted to slap her for being cheeky. Instead, he frowned and loomed over her. He was about two feet taller than her so that she had to strain her neck to keep eye contact with him.

"No, I said mine!"

He took out a coarse brown fabric of some sort that had been folded in his robe pocket. Hermione watched as Antonin unfolded the fabric to reveal a large burlap sack of some sort. The sack was plain-woven and looked derelict and musty like it had been used to store potatoes or something.

"What is that?" Hermione asked in disgust. It couldn't possibly be an invisibility cloak or some other magic sack could it? Harry's cloak was well worn but it had a fine thread count compared to this plain burlap sack that looked better suited to a barn.

"A ha," Antonin reached a hand in the sack and threw out a spare potato (so it had been used to store potatoes!). "It 'vis not what is in the sack that counts but what it _does_."

Hermione rolled her eyes at anyone waxing poetical over a burlap sack. Perhaps Russian wizards had different ideas of what constituted fine metaphors but she was not the least impressed. "Okay then," she said and tried not to invoke his anger further. "What does the sack do? Why are you showing me this?"

When he didn't answer her right away but kept smirking at her, Hermione felt a deep-set panic set in. Was he going to strangle her with a sack? Was he going to suffocate her with a bloody sack?

"I mean," she gulped. "Aren't you supposed to be taking me back to Malfoy Manor right about now? Why are you wasting time showing me a burlap sack?"

Antonin shook his head at her, while rubbing his very black beard and saying, _"Tisk tisk!"_ and smiling mischieviously at her.

It was at this moment she couldn't help noticing how handsome he was. How tall. How fit...How cute his face was, despite the heavy, black facial hair that obscured some of it. He was rather fit and alluring in a dangerous mother-warned-you-against type.

...Oh and did she forget to mention? He was completely mental! Dolohov, despite his good looks, was clearly losing touch with reality. Or, he was literally out to lunch and this was a misunderstanding of some sort.

She cleared her throat and attempted to be the voice of reason. "So Dolohov, I know you're disappointed in me for whatever reason, but can you please just put away your bag of potatoes and focus on something other than lunch?" (She guessed now, for whatever reason, maybe Russian men just carried around potato sacks to have their lunch in. It was around 1pm right now, so it wasn't too far fetched a guess. Please forgive her ignorance of Russian wizarding culture.)

His dark eyes stared at her, seemingly amused by something, before laughing at her. She was glad he started to laugh, too, in all honestly, since his eyes were rather hypnotizing and it was hard to look away when he just stared at you silently like that. He had extremely pretty eyes, for a villain.

"Ah! V'You are too much, babushka! My lunch bag? Ha ha ha." He patted her on the shoulder gruffly and she irked away from his touch. "I forget you are an v'English Rose, v'you know not our customs!"

"What customs might those be?" Hermione asked, deciding to encourage his good humour, in the hopes he would eventually let her go or get distracted enough for her to escape. Hopefully, Harry and Ron might not be far behind, if they recovered quickly from the Bombarda Antonin had used to send them both crashing under a pile of rubble.

"Ah, you are too v'innocent." Antonin lifted his hand to brush the soft skin of her cheek before showing her the bag again. "'Vis bag is not for lunch, 'vis bag is for you. You are going in this bag, ptitsa!"

"What?"

Before Hermione had anymore time to express her consternation or utter confusion, Antonin threw the burlap sack over her head and she was rendered blindfolded.

"Help!"

~o~


	3. Chapter 3

~O~

Hermione knew two things.

One: she had a burlap sack over her head.

Two: the man who put said sack over her head was obviously, clearly, a very insane, weird Russian wizard. Who also happened to work for Voldemort. So whatever his intentions were, they clearly could not be good or benevolent whatsover.

Also, yes, it smelt like turnips and old potatoes in this damned burlap sack, which was sure to make her hair extra frizzy when (and if) the burlap sack ever came off her head and she breathed in fresh air again. Or was Antonin secretly just using the sack over her head to calm her right before he killed her, executioner style?

"HELPPP! SOMEBODY HELP! HARRY! RON!" Hermione shrieked hopelessly at the top of her lungs, though she had long lost sight of her friends, and knew she was fully alone in the dark alley. Nobody was coming to her rescue. Would they even recognize her with this stupid bag on her head?

"Be quiet, ptitsa!"

He shook her by the shoulders.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Hermione felt herself start to hyperventilate. She could barely cry in between taking great gulps of air. What if these were her last moments alive? "HELLLPPP!"

"Shhh! Screaming will only make the process v'worse for you. V'wee are going home now!"

Hermione felt her lungs start to heave even more. "Home?" she managed to cough in between gulps of air. "What do you mean home?"

"V'you will see, soon enough," Antonin said and she yelped again as his large hands grabbed her by the sides and lifted her over his shoulder. "There," he said, and patted her on the behind. "It is almost done!"

Hermione badly wanted to kick this Russian bastard, for both groping her and admitting he was kidnapping her to wherever his lousy home was. Guessing by his manners, his home was probably in a gulag in Siberia.

"You will release me right now!" the brunette demanded and pummelled her small fists against his broad back.

Antonin merely laughed and seemed to not feel any pain from her punches. He patted her on the bum again and she wanted to curl up and die. How dare he! He definetly squeezed her cheeks that time! Did these Russian wizards have no respect for women's boundaries?!

"V'you are coming home with me," he stated paternally as if correcting a delinquent child. "V'you are my property now!"

"I am NOT your property or anyone else's!" Hermione shouted, her face reddening. How maddening! She had never been so angry in her life. The misogynist, backwards, stupid moron! "You can't OWN people, you great lout! You can't just put a sack over someone's head and say they're yours now!"

"Vou can in v'wizarding Russia!" Dolohov said less patiently.

"I am NOT from Russia, I am ENGLISH AND WE ARE IN ENGLAND!"

"Not for much longer," Dolohov corrected her again, this time even being so bold as to sound offended by her lack of manners. "V'you are now mine and as good as my property so I am taking v'you to Russia."

"No! Let me go! I'm not going to Russia!"

She fought valiantly to try to disengage herself from Antonin. She wildly kicked or punched and screamed and tried to get out of his grasp. However, once Antonin held you in his arms and hands, it was like trying to break through bars of iron. His hand alone could crush her hand if he chose to, he had an iron vice grip.

"Shush, v'we're taking the portkey right now! Be still!" He slapped her bum to chastise her. "What kind of wife vill you make? So disobedient, do I v'need to spank you!"

"Wife?!"

Hermione nearly had a heartattack in that burlap sack right there. But before she could puke her guts out or kick Antonin in the groin, the whole world was spinning around her in every direction as Dolohov used a portkey to transport them.

"GOOD MERLIN!"

~O~


	4. Chapter 4

~o~

Hermione nearly threw up as they landed crashing out of the portkey and into a face-full of snow in what could only presumably be central Russia.

She immediately began to shiver and realized how underdressed she was for this extreme weather. Her whole body stung from both the fall and the snow.

She yanked the sack off her head and looked around her. Holy mother of merlin. She had never seen something so blindingly beautiful yet harsh: in every direction, as far as the eye could see, was snow. The entire world here seemed to be covered in blinding white snow.

What a harsh environment.

"Do v'you like it?" Antonin asked her as he scooped her up in his arms and used the burlap sack, this time, to keep her warm by wrapping it around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, vi didn't think to bring v'you jacket."

Hermione shivered again, her teeth chattering together, yet she managed to find some warmth against his broad chest. She was too cold to attempt to escape from him again right now. Without her wand or a coat, she would die from the cold before she got even a mile away.

"I suppose so," she said sheepishly. It is a beautiful land, she thought...and cruel and strange. Much like its inhabitant Dolohov. She couldn't understand him either.

"Come vee v'will go to my house, it is just round that strand of trees!" Dolohov began taking great strides through the deep snow, seemingly not slowed down whatsover by the snow as he walked. She was rather impressed how fast this man could walk through snow while seemingly impervious to the cold. Though Dolohov was wearing a long black seude and fur coat that probably helped a lot.

Hermione numbly stayed in his arms and tried to feel her fingertips and toes as the bitter cold made them numb.

She could barely feel her face anymore. Her nose felt like an icicle stuck to her face. Her lips were so numb she could barely press them together.

Yet that didn't stop her from demanding more answers to her questions. She needed to know why Antonin was doing what he was doing. If she understood him, maybe she could figure out a way to convince him out of it or use the knowledge to better inform her escape. "Why did you say I was your property? Why did you call me a 'wife'?"

"Shh, look at v'you, v'you are not used to this v'weather. Save your strength, ptitsa."

"But why did you say that?" Hermione stammered, her frozen lips barely forming the words properly. She wanted to know this madman's plans even if it was the last thing she learned before the cold officially killed her and she died unromantically in his arms, far away from home and far away from everything she loved and knew. Britain was her home. How she longed to be back with Harry and Ron.

"Because wee v'will be married, ptitsa."

Hermione shook her head shivering in both fear and cold. "No. No! This must all be some misunderstanding. You have to let me go."

"Shhh!" Antonin said more sharply, as if quieting a child. "V'we are almost there."

They stopped suddenly before a round, enormous mound in the snow...that looked just like a very large pile of more snow. Except actually the mound of snow had a door and windows..and, when Hermione looked at it closer, she saw it was simply a house covered with a thick layer of snow over top.

"Here, make v'yourself v'warm!" Antonin opened the door and unceremoniously shoved her in, before going back out to grab some firewood.

She stumbled on her feet where he left her and she blew on her hands to try to warm them as she stared around herself.

Hermione was surprised to see the simple wood and stone cabin was neat, clean and, dare say it, cozy looking? There was a hearth, a yak skin rug by the stone fireplace, polished gleaming brass light fixtures, Victorian style portraits of the Dolohov family on the walls and a cute kitchen with a kettle and fridge. And there was a small bedroom with quilts which Hermione supposed was the master bedroom. There wasn't a spare bedroom.

"Great," Hermione thought. "He expects us to share a bed probably." Duh. What did she expect from such a villain? He obviously intended to take advantage of her, or kill her. She didn't know which was worse possible outcome.

A few minutes later, Dolohov walked back in the front door, carrying logs in his arms. He dropped the logs by a small fireplace and used his wand to start a good hearty fire.

Soon the small round cabin was warm and snug. She was almost relaxed for a moment...until she remembered who she was with and how he had brought here against her will. Abducted basically. By a mad Death Eater no less.

Hermione blinked in dismay as she gazed between the pretty log cabin and Antonin Dolohov. Trying to put the two juxtaposing elements into one neat explanation.

"Why have you brought me here?" she asked, trying not to show any of her wear or fear. Though she knew she was now thousands of miles from home and in this strange and mysterious man's mercy. "Why do you insist we're getting married?" She coughed, attempting to sound polite. "You do know I wouldn't marry you, not in a million years?"

Antonin gave her the wickedest grin, sending a jolt of fluttering butterflies down her stomach. "Really? Ptitsa? Not in a million years." He emitted a hawk-like laugh. "V'we are already married!"

~o~

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a/n: What do you think will happen next? Should she try to escape or go along with it, then surprise attack him whilst he's sleeping or something. Please review and let me know, cheers


	5. Chapter 5

**Important note:**

**So in my other Antonin story 'Well Worth the Trouble' I didn't make a big deal about his accent and just spelt things mostly correctly and things were much easier. However, why oh why, I decided to add these weird v'w and v'y in his dialogue to make his accent thicker, but this has just become a royal pain in the butt to keep up. And caused some confusion so I will explain here in case:**

**With Antonin's thick accent I sometimes add a "v" in front of his words beginning with y or w, to show he pronounces those letters as sounding like v... i.e. the y's and w's in his speech are silent and become v's instead.**

**_So v'your_ instead of _your_ is pronounced to sound like 'vur' by Antonin **

**Or when he says: _v'will_ instead of will, or _v'you_ instead of you, or "v'with" instead of "with. **

**The extra V means he is pronouncing those words so they sound like: "vill", "vu", "vith" etc.. with a silent W.**

**Yet I didn't write the dialogue with "vee", "vill", "vith" and "vu" in case the incorrect spelling confused anyone whose first language isn't English or is using a translator. My first language is English, but I get many readers from all over and out of respect for the international readership, I tried to keep the correct English spelling so it wouldn't add any confusion in translation. I hope that his dialogue doesn't irritate too many people, though if it does I may change it. I just wanted to emphasize his Russian accent without changing the correct spelling too much. Thank you, though I do sometimes add a 'vee', or weird incorrect spelling sometimes to show he is butchering a particular word...because Idk sometimes it just feel like he needs to have a butchered mispronounced word in there somewhere XD**

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~o~

"V'wee are already married!" Dolohov laughed, amused at her innocence.

Hermione immediately stood up and stared at him shock, her body trembling. "No, we are not!"

"Yes, vee are, v'we are married since a minute ago!" Dolohov stood up and strode up to her, that grin on his face again. "Care to kiss v'your new husband?"

He placed his large hands on either side of her face and brought his lips crashing down onto her. For a second she couldn't breath as Dolohov's surprisingly delicious lips smacked against her own and then he attempted to wrangle her mouth open with his silky tongue.

It was at this point, she had enough. There was no way she was going to allow Dolohov to kiss her with tongue, especially so soon after they were supposedly married. What kind of girl did he take her for? She didn't care how handsome her new husband was or how she felt butterflies in her stomach when he kissed her like that, he had no right to kiss her or be her husband in the first place.

She balled up her fist. "Why you brute!" She stepped back away from him in a quick motion, then came back swinging and locked her fist with his jaw.

To her shock and delight, her fist managed to hurt him this time, probably because he was not expecting the blow to his pretty face.

Dolohov held his jaw and glared down at her from those unspeakably dark and mysterious eyes. "Why you treacherous v'English woman! Is this how all v'you English roses treat your husband on your 'vedding day!"

"I am NOT your wife!" Hermione shouted at him. "We are not married! Ever!"

Dolohov tutted at her and widly gesticulated with his arms. As he spoke, his right hand came slamming loudly down into the palm of his left hand. "V'we are, by Russian law, and w'vee are not in England anymore!"

"How are we married, even by Russian law?!" Hermione asked incredulously. She looked down at her hands and didn't see any ring had magically appeared on her finger.

Antonin sighed and pointed towards a chair for her to sit down. "It's veen a long day. Why don't v'you sit down by the fire, varm v'your hands and I will begin to tell v'you about the great wizarding Russian tradition v'you have just taken part of." He himself sat down in an extraordinary large yak horn chair, that looked like he had made it himself. He looked like a strange emperor or Atila the Hut in his fur coat sitting in his yak throne. "This is my grandpa's old hunting cabin v'by the way, I cannot take v'you to the proper Dolohov house in St. Petersburg...because I am still a vanted man!" He winked at her. "Thanks to v'you!"

Hermione was so tired physically from the cold and running and the portkey, and so confused by the day's events, that she nodded and sat down, though she didn't for one second turn her back or keep her eye off him. She didn't trust him enough to turn her back again...last time she had done that, he threw a burlap sack over her and took her here, (also wrecking her hair so it was now all frizzy!). And when she had turned her back halfway, he had seized her to kiss her passionately in a way that stirred all kinds of emotions. She couldn't take any further chances with Dolohov. She needed to be on guard 24/7 with him, never turning her back or letting him out of her sight without knowing what he might be up to next.

"Alright fine," she sniffed. "I will listen but it doesn't mean I agree one bit. Or consent to even consider the permanency of this arrangement."

"All in time, ptitsa," Antonin added. "Vou will understand why I v'did what I did."

_"All in time," _Hermione thought_. "I will have already escaped out of your clutches and I won't have to listen to anymore of your crazy claims or crazy wizarding Russian traditions."_

_~o~_


	6. Chapter 6

~o~

"All in time, ptitsa," Antonin added. "V'you will understand why I did what I did."

The handsome man leaned back in his yak horn throne. His wand flicked languidly and a bottle of unlabeled clear liquor and two shot glasses flew onto a table before him.

"Care for a drink, ptitsa?" Antonin asked her generously.

Hermione glared at him. Getting drunk with Dolohov? No, thank you. That was a recipe for disaster.

She politely coughed."No thank you. I don't drink." _Not with enemies that is._

"Ahh v'you will learn soon enough. In Russia v'we drink to keep warm. It stimulates the v'blood." Antonin poured himself a hearty glass and brought the glass to his lips.

His dark eyes were on hers as he took the first few sips. "Mmm delicious," he mumbled. "You should try."

He eyes lowered to her sweater and the curves hidden underneath by the loosely woven yarn.

Hermione stirred uncomfortably in her seat across from him. Good Merlin, why did she feel herself blushing and her legs tensing? Get yourself together, Granger. This man is your enemy.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and cleared her throat. "So...You were going to explain...?"

Antonin smirked. "Impatient are v'we?" He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face. "Okay I v'will tell v'you my story."

As he spoke, she tried not to stare at his lips but it was increasingly hard not to when she remembered how good they tasted against hers and he had pressed himself flush against her body.

"Are v'you listening to me Granger?" Antonin teased her with a half smile on his gorgeous lips below his annoyingly alluring pitch black mustache and goatee. Merlin it wasn't fair when men naturally had facial hair this alluring and sexy.

"Of course I am!" Yet when she met his eyes again that umcomfortable feeling kicked in again.

His eyes were so dark and piercing, like he could see through her very soul, or at the very least he could see under her clothes. Like he could mentally undress her.

She couldn't bare it anymore. She stood up again and leaned towards the table where he had his bottle and shot glasses.

"Actually give me a glass of that." She shakily reached out and poured a full glass of the vodka into her shot glass. She needed any fortification available...unfortunately, this, rather than home or Harry or Ron or actual comfort potions, was the only fortification available to her.

"Drink up, ptitsa, it v'will warm you," Antonin chuckled.

She drank it too quickly and then spat it out again. This was the strongest alcohol she had ever tried. She began to cough.

"Ha ha! What v'were you expecting English v'water? v'You are not used to our strength!"

Hermione frowned as she coughed once more, her throat burning. Yet the effect of the vodka was immediate and she relaxed for the first time since he captured her.

Antonin nodded at her to sit down again. She did but kept her eyes trained on him in anticipation of any change in his mood or benevolence.

"V'Well as I was saying, v'you have taken part in a great ancient wizarding Russian tradition, the magical Matimutka!"

"The magica matee what?"

"The Matimutka," Antonin nodded proudly.

"What is a Matimutka?"

"Not what, but who," Antonin corrected her and finally broke eye contact with her to stare out the window, though she wasn't sure what he saw out there. There was nothing to see outside any of his windows except snow...and more snow. "The Matimutka 'vwas a Russian princess, back in the old days, v'who defied her father, the king, to marry the man she loved! A poor peasant serf!"

"Oh. Right," Hermione said. Well, this was unexpected as hell. The last thing she expected Dolohov to tell her was a Russian princess fairytale story as they sat in his log cabin by a fire.

"'Vit is a true story, you know?" Antonin said as if sensing her doubt.

"Of course, I never said otherwise." Hermione suppressed a laugh at his expense. How gullible was this man he believed fairytales.

Dolohov rolled his eyes at her. "Anywvay! The Matimutka was avout to marry a man she did not love, a prince. Though thee Prince Pushbuskin was wealthy and powerful, the Matimutka did not love him. She wished nothing to do with him. But ah! This clever ptitsa was in love with another by secret, the stable servant Mattheiu! He was a young handsome but penniless serf who fed and trained the royal horses and slept in the palace's stables."

"Of course," Hermione said, and this time couldn't repress a smile. "I'm believing this story more and more."

Antonin saw she was smiling and returned it with his own wider grin. Surprisingly, he did not get mad at her. He simply shrugged. "You may not believe this story, but all magic Russian folks know it is va true story!"

Hermione laughed.

"Vis alright, laugh! V'you English have strange faiytales vourself like v'Merlin and vee knights of round table!"

Hermione shrugged. "Fair enough, that is true. Those are probably made up. Though I do think most are aware Merlin's legends are exaggerated, even if he did factually exist."

"Da da," Antonin said. "The Matimutka was a real person too, vo she existed a thousand years ago." He took another swig of his glass and sighed loudly. "A most romantic woman. Anyvay, she defied her father and told Matthieu to rescue her from the loveless marriage by pretending to kidnap her. Now Matthieu did not have  
much at his disposal though he was a clever v'wizard. He took one of the empty burlap sacks which had held horse feed and he grabbed one of the fastest stallions in the kingdom. Then when Matimutka walked in the stables and nodded at him with her father by her side, he ran up towards them, put the sack over head and killed her father."

"Wait, what, she killed her father?" Hermione gasped. "How is this romantic?!"

Antonin tutted at her. "Shee did not kill v'him, Matthieu did, v'you're you not listening again?"

"I did, I heard that part, but she still allowed her boyfriend to kill her father?" Hermione shook her head. It seemed to have turned into rather a dark fairytale rather quickly.

Antonin ignored her disapproval and continued the tale. "She had to do v'what she had to do. With the king gone, the Matimutka would be queen but first she needed to pretend she had been kidnapped and taken by her father's murderer so no one would suspect her."

"Da," Hermione said the Russian word for 'yes' mockingly. 'Da' the word for yes sounded cannilly like 'duh'.

"So Mattheiu rode off at sundown with the princess hidden by a burlap sack and carried her off to his hut."

"Much like this?" Hermione couldnt help adding and looked around the room.

Antonin said "Tisk tisk, do you think a serf would have had a hunting cabin as fine as this? Give me a v'break!" He glared at her scoldingly. "You should see our manor in Moscow, it is a mini palace, ptitsa! A fine house the Dolohov name has!"

"Okay, okay, didn't mean to offend you!" Hermione chuckled. Why was she warming to him? Oh well, maybe she was just enjoying the absurd story and where it was inevitably leading.

"Mattheiu took Matimutka to his hut and they consumated their marriage the only way they could: he took her on a bed of hay! The v'blood of her innocence stayed all over her white gowns she was v'wearing, mixed v'with her father's blood yet she wrapped v'herself with love around her Mattheiu!"

Hermione gulped but Antonin ignored her discomfort and continued narrating the tale proudly.

"In the morning, v'they rode back to the royal palace, the sack off her head and blood on her gown. The kingdom had been mourning the death of her father but when she told them that her stableman had seen the attack and followed the murderer and rescued her, he became a hero! Since the Matimutka was the queen now, she made him a knight and she married him. They ruled 200 years together in a golden era of Russian history!"

"But he was the bad guy?" Hermione said, shaking her head. "He had killed her father and they both lied about it."

"Da!" Antonin grinned wickedly and she felt a flutter of butterflies in her stomach again. "But they all ended happilly!"

~O~

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a/n: Btw the Matimutka story is from my imagination. Again this is not actual Russian folklore or Russian wizarding folklore (if that even exists) or anything remotely accurate, no offense intended to actual Slavic people.

What do you think should happen next? How will Antonin use this fairytale to justify his actions?

Please stay tuned, and please please leave a review, thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

~o~

Antonin had finished telling her the strange yet dark fairytale of the Matimutka. His bottle of clear liquor, which she guessed was vodka, was also half empty by this point. Antonin's eyes looked rather dilated and darker than ever.

Hermione shifted in her seat and sighed, wondering how she was going to make the best of a bad situation. Since she was obviously stuck in this cabin surrounded by frozen snow in every direction for the time being. With a man who claimed he had just married her.

"So what does this have to do with our marriage? Are you going to tell me you're a Russian prince now and we're going to kill your father and be married on false pretenses?"

"Valse pretensions?" Antonin blew a raspberry and she couldn't help smirking. "There needs not be any of that. I am not a prince neither, are you disappointed?"

She frowned and removed the smirk from her face. "I don't think I'd care for you either way, even if you were a prince," Hermione said honestly.

Antonin wasn't her type; she preferred good, honest men. And especially, not Death Eaters. Not killing muggles and mudbloods for a deranged Dark Lord was a must.

"Good! I am not a prince. However, after Matimutka became queen she changed the magical Russian laws to keep her claim by Matthieu forever legitimate! There were those who questioned the sanctity of a princess who had spent a night with a murderer and a stableboy. So v'when she became queen, to silence her critics forever, she sentenced them to be executed in Siberia by freezing and-"

"Of course, brilliant," Hermione said sarcastically. "Murder your opponents."

"Oh that is not all, ptitsa. The Matimutka was very clever! She changed the laws too: it v'was decreed that if any Russian man, serf or nobleman, were to place a burlap sack over a v'women's head and abduct her from her family and consummate the union within three days, they v'would be legally married!"

Hermione gasped. "That is a completely barbaric and unfair law! How could she make a law that allows Russian witches to suffer. It's completely backwards! And she did this as a woman herself!"

Antonin stretched out his legs on the yak throne and clicked his boots together. "The woman was a queen and politician first before being a woman."

"She was still remarkably misogynist and unfair to women in her laws! I can't imagine how she could do this to her people."

Antonin shrugged. "Some people v'only think of themselves."

"Like you I suppose?" Hermione asked with arched eyebrows.

"Ey! I intend to make v'you much happy v'woman!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please, abducting someone, is hardly the beginning of a beautiful friendship." She bit at her lip, wondering if Antonin even knew she was quoting Casablanca, a muggle movie, to him. "So people actually follow this law? Even now?"

Antonin made an odd noise as he mulled over his thoughts. "It's still not popular, vor obvious reasons. Many fathers and brothers get mad, and even seek vegeance, when it's their daughter or sister who is taken and forcibly married to a man!"

"I imagine they would be angry."

"Yes, so the laws changed after, the family is allowed to retaliate, and the woman can try to fight the man off if she doesn't like him, but if they don't get her back or burn the man's residence before getting her back, the marriage remains legitimate."

"What a perfectly odd legal system you have here, like something out of a bad fairytale, quite literally," Hermione muttered. She would never complain again of how bad the British Ministry of Magic's laws were compared to Magical Russia's laws.

"Either way, v'you see now, ptitsa, v'we are married. I put the sack over v'your head and v'you are here now."

"You haven't consummated it yet," Hermione reminded him and her whole face and body turned beet red. "I mean that definitely won't happen EVER, so it won't be legitimate." She cleared her throat. "Also my family, and friends presumably, can retaliate, as can I. I can put up a fight and they can burn down this whole cabin."

Antonin gritted his teeth. "I v'will not recommend v'you burn my grandfather's cabin, 'Ermione, it vill make me very mad." He rubbed his large hands together. "And v'you v'will find I am not so nice when I am mad."

Hermione didn't think he was nice even when being nice, so she doubted he would be nice when truly mad either.

"Your family don't know where v'you are," Antonin said. "Shame! I v'would have enjoyed more of a challenge but v'your Harry and Vron didn't put much of a fight."

"That's because you snuck up on us, bombarded them and separated me from the group! It was a completely unfair stealth attack!"

Antonin shrugged. "You've got to do v'what you got to do."

Hermione stood up and went to stare out the window, an escape plan formulating in her mind.

"There must be a way out of this," she whispered to herself aloud.

Dolohov must've had especially acute hearing for he heard her words and went to stand beside her by the window. "I v'would not attempt an escape in this cold, my dainty English rose. You might hurt v'yourself." He brushed her long brown hair back from her neck and rubbed his fingers along her pale skin there. "Besides v'you may enjoy warming my bed v'instead."

Hermione turned around to face him with tears in her eyes. She had never been so mad.

"How dare you! You had no right to do this, I don't care what your magic Russian laws are here or what the Matimushwhatever said or did, I did not consent to be here!"

"V'yes da that vis true."

"Yes!" Hermione said.

"Run then ptitsa, I am fair," he still held her neck and rubbed her skin. "I v'will give v'you a chance, one more last chance, to escape before v'you are truly mine." He narrowed his eyes. "And then there is no way out."

He looked like he wanted to lean in and kiss her again but she pushed him off of her.

"Give me my wand," she demanded. "That is the only fair way I have a chance of escaping!"

"No," Antonin said firmly. "My rules."

"Please! Just let me go!" she pleaded, crying fully now. "I want my wand. I don't have a chance otherwise!"

Antonin stared down at the clock on the wall. "No. But I v'will give v'you an hour's head start. Go. Now."

Hermione stared helplessly between the clock and Antonin. She couldn't understand him or his strange customs, but she decided to not waste a single minute more  
of his mercy. She had to get out of here.

"Take this," he said and gave her his coat.

She grabbed it without thanking him and ran out the front door.

She nearly screamed and ran back in when she felt the freezing cold bite at her bare legs but then she saw Antonin waiting back in the cabin, waiting no doubt to consummate their marriage roughly against her will, she didn't turn back again.

She ran out into the snow for her life.

~o~

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a/n: Uh oh. Hermione better haul ass and get the hell out of there before Dolohov catches her.

But will she get away? Please leave a review/comment below if you get the chance, cheers


	8. Chapter 8

_a/n: Thank you so much for reading and some excellent reviews! One reader suggested that Hermione be an animagus and get away from Dolohov that way! Alas, yes she would get away from Dolohov, hitch a ride back to England and then our story would be over, lol. Dolohov would have to find another wife. But I love the idea so I included the hint of it in here and in a sequel to this story, I will definitely will include that in the plot. If you were reading my other story, 'Well Worth the Trouble," I added a short epilogue today btw. I'm a diehard sirmione shipper so I decided to add a tiny clue of that in this chapter...though Sirius is most certainly dead in this story :( sorry_

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~o~

The snow was blinding and bitter cold as she tried to run through the three-feet deep layers of the white, awful snow. When she stumbled and fell, her foot or sometimes whole leg would fall through what seemed to be more layers of snow. Under which seemed to be more snow but frozen solid unlike the soft upper layer of new snow.

Merlin, she didn't even know there could so much types of snow. Wet snow. Hard snow. Frozen ice cold snow. Fresh, softer snow that your foot sank through.

Snow, snow, snow.

Everywhere she turned was blinding white from the snow, she felt the glare of the sun on the snow burn at her eyes, mixing in the frozen tears. She couldn't see clearly and tried to wipe at her eyes with her numb fingers.

She didn't even know where she was going or if she'd ever find a way back to the warm cabin behind her, everything blended into the all consuming white.

But she had to try.

Making a run for it, and fighting against the pain stabbing at her frozen legs, she kept running forward. Forward, forward, always forward.

Many times, she fell over or her foot would feel so numb she shrieked in pain, but she kept going.

Soon, when she had cleared what felt like a mile, she saw finally a strand of snow covered trees beckon along the forest. A forest?

A forest would provide cover. Otherwise, Antonin would quickly trace her footsteps and find where she had gone.

She made a mad dash towards the trees and fell again on her minds. She screamed when she realized she could no longer feel her fingers. In agitation, she blew on her hands with her breathe, hoping to warm them.

How long had passed since she had the cabin? Time seemed a shocked blur of running and physical pain. And fear...always fear that she wouldn't get away in time.

She nearly was at the mouth of the frozen forest when she looked behind her. There was no sign of the cabin or Antonin anywhere. She had no idea what direction the cabin even lay in anymore.

Maybe only forty minutes had passed though she could no longer feel her legs or feet. Her fingers were somewhat protected by the long sleeves of Dolohov's fur coat so she no longer felt too much pain there. But she panicked as she realized she couldn't feel her feet. At all. What if she got frost bite and her toes fell off? What if she couldn't find a way home and Dolohov never found her either?

Hermione freaked out, crying louder than ever, to the empty barren wasteland. However, she had to keep trying.

She kept moving, limping now, towards the forest. Surely she could find shelter there, start a fire somehow and maybe she'd find some other inhabitants that could help her back home.

She had made only a little way into the tall trees of the forest when she thought she heard a cry of a man's voice behind her.

No, it can't be. He can't be that quick.

Hermione kept limping forward.

"Ptitsa!"

She stopped walking when she heard Antonin's voice pierce undeniably through the windy silence.

"Shit."

The muggleborn tried as hard as she could to run faster but her legs refused to more than limply place one frozen foot in front of the other. Yet she alas reached the refuge of the forest when she saw Antonin many yards behind her. He was moving much faster than her, undoubtedly helped by his rabbit-skin boots and his acclimatization to this bizarre weather.

"I need to find a place to hide," she thought, looking desperately at the trees.

She felt the bark of one of the trees. These weren't like English oak trees. All the trees were too high and had too few branches to climb. Yet the trees were not wide enough for her to hide behind. When suddenly she spotted a nice thick bunch of small pine needle baby trees. She dodged behind the pine in time for Antonin to not see her as he entered the forest behind her.

"Come out of hiding, my wife! I promise life v'with me v'will not be so bad!" He attempted to laugh through the blistering cold. "V'you may even enjoy it, I have a touch that has made many other Russian v'woman happy!"

_"Then why didn't you just marry them and leave me alone!"_ Hermione wanted to shout back at him. But she locked her jaw. Her lips were so frozen she didn't think she'd be able to speak anyways. Though how dare the bastard try to rationalize his rape, or consummation, of the marriage like this.

The nerve of the man. Taunting her like that when she was practically dying of the cold. Perhaps, no maybe, she might prefer dying here than letting him have her.

"Come out, my love! Do not v'make me take v'you kicking and screaming!"

"I'd like to see you try," she thought. She had pummeled Ron when he'd tried to overstep his boundaries and get frisky with her in the tent during their search for the Horcruxes. That was the real reason Ron had stormed off moodily from the tent before he eventually came back and apologized to both Harry and her, but especially her.

If she had her wand right now, Dolohov would already be ablaze in a stinging hex as she kicked him in the groin before apparating away and finding a way back to sane, (and by contrast) sunny England.

"I see v'you!" Antonin said and Hermione shivered beneath the cover of the pine needles.

She closed her eyes and tried not to breath. If he came close enough and she was breathing, he'd seen the evaporation from her breath and catch her.

She held her breath as his footsteps moved around the pine trees before his large hand reached in and grabbed her by the shoulder.

A second later, she was face to face with a coatless Dolohov who had gone chasing after her with only his boots and a thin sweater. His hands were as cold as hers as he grabbed her by the waist. "Caught you. Are v'you done v'your defiance now, my rabbit?"

_If only I could turn into a rabbit, I could've got away from you,_ Hermione thought bitterly and closed her eyes. Yet she had made the mistake of never becoming an animagus. Sirius Black had promised to teach her how one day, but then he died and then that never happened. She couldn't turn into a rabbit, no matter how many times Antonin called her one. Unhappily, she remembered Sirius's face in the Ministry as he had collapsed into the Veil. How Sirius seemed to be falling asleep in his last moments alive. A quick death. She wondered if she were to die the same way.

"V'you're delirious," Antonin's voice seemed to say from a distance. "What are you rambling about? Sirius?" He chuckled. "V'you liked him? Oh no no ptitsa, he is dead and v'you are mine."

Hermione, whether from the cold or the shock of losing her one escape attempt, collapsed in Dolohov's arms.

She did not remember the walk back home, only a faint memory of him whispering in Russian to her as he held her to his frozen chest through the snow.

She remembered crying though before her eyes firmly shut.

~o~

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a/n: Please review if you want faster updates! I love to get feedback and it helps me grow as a writer even concrit is good


	9. Chapter 9

~o~

Hermione awoke again in the cabin.

She blearily opened her eyes and recognized the bare wood of the ceiling above her and the scent of pine.

She wondered where Antonin might be and if she might get away again...when the Russian wizard darted back into her line of vision.

Hermione winced. _What happened? _she wondered. Yet she couldn't remember any of the last ten minutes or so.

"V'you are awake! V'you were delirious," Antonin said with an edge to his voice, though his eyes crinkled at the sides when he met her eyes. "Better?"

The brunette stared angrily up at his bearded face. _Great._ So she had failed capitally at getting away from him and she was right back where she started.

He was doing something with her legs and she wanted to yelp but it came out more like barely audible moan, her lungs were obviously not working well or something. Her voice froze in her throat.

As she attempted to sit up, she realized her body was wrapped in the rug head to toe, like Cleopatra (or less glamorously, like a giant burrito).

Antonin spoke over her in mild panic as he felt her cold hands and legs before removing the wet, wasted shoes from her feet and then her wet socks.

She whimpered in pain as his hand felt over her frozen feet, the toes still numb like they had frostbite...

He lifted her congealed, frozen heap of a body closer by the fireplace and stared down at her, one of his hands darting out to push her wet hair out of her face.

"Valm down, I am here."

She had too little strength to mutter a word back. She tried but her lips wouldn't form the words. So she settled for just grunting once in displeasure. She probably sounded like a pig, which made her more upset.

"Shush, shush, I v'know!" Antonin said then unwrapped the rug around her.

His large hands went to remove the coat from her and she felt a panic as she realized he was going to completely undress her by removing the wet, cold clothing.

_No. No. No!_ She tried to grunt the word 'no' and get away from him but her legs and feet were still like frozen limp noodles.

She could only stare into his dark, mysterious eyes as he lifted the sweater, then the pants and shirt from her body.

His hands stung her bare flesh as he removed the clothing and she gasped.

When she was just in her underwear, he was about to remove those too, when he looked at her and stopped when he saw the fear in her big brown eyes.

"Don't," she mouthed, warning him.

Antonin nodded his head. Why did his dark eyes seem like they were smirking at her? Yet he respected her boundaries, for now.

Instead he wrapped her back up in the animal skin rug, which acted like a warm blanket, and kept her in his arms by the fire.

She felt rather like a giant frozen baby held in his arms, wrapped in the rug, being nursed back to health by Dolohov.

His unusually warm eyes smirked down at her. "I v'know, I v'know. You are angry now. You think it some trick that I let you go out in that v'weather, but I know, my ptitsa, that with or without my permission, v'you would've found your way out there running in the v'cold." He smirked and brushed her wet hair from her face. "At v'least this way, I caught you like a rabbit in time before your toes fell off!"

Hermione grunted and managed to lick her lips and press them together. She coughed once and it felt like her lungs were filled with fluid. Like even her lungs had taken a beating from the cold air when she had ran outside for around an hour.

"Let go of me," she finally had enough strength to whisper. Her brown eyes stared bitterly up at him.

Dolohov raised his brows. "Go where? I am keeping v'you varm, you ungrateful thing!"

Hermione gulped down the bile in her throat. "I don't feel comfortable," she said more strongly. "With you holding me like this when I am only dressed in my under garments."

"V'you should feel comfortable v'with more than that, soon, ptitsa," he observed cheerfully.

Hermione gritted her teeth together. If she had her strength back, she'd knock him in the jaw again with her fist again. How she longed to have her wand to attack him, almost as much as she longed for her freedom.

"Didn't I give v'you the chance to v'get away, my rabbit? Maybe you v'really want to marry me!" Antonin chuckled and patted her back paternally through the thick rug.

"Not being able to run away in a blizzard does NOT mean I want to marry you!" Hermione corrected him.

Then she mustered enough strength to wriggle out of his arms but instead of being able to walk away on her poor feet, she immediately stumbled back down and rolled out of the blanket onto the floor naked.

So now she was on the floor in her underwear, trying to stand on her feet but they still hurt like they'd been hammered with ice. She had to sit on the floor, her feet were unable to take her weight.

"What happened to my feet?" Hermione swore. She tried to nurse some bloodflow back into her toes by massaging them. She couldn't even wriggle her toes anymore.

Antonin tisk-tisked her again. "I have to v'use a healing spell if they are still numb. Your delicate English toes are not used to vis v'weather."

Then he lowered his eyes and she felt humiliated as his eyes swept appreciatively over her body through the simple cotton bra and panties that barely covered her. Antonin licked at the corner of his mouth.

"Let me take v'you to the v'bedroom and lay v'you out on the bed, to perform the v'spell!"

"Not a chance! Perform the spell here, or not at all!" Hermione said yet, once again, Antonin ignored her and scooped her up into his arms to carry her to the bedroom.

"Relax! I am not Matthieu," he chuckled. "I have no bed of hay but proper mattress and I have no interest in harming v'your v'father."

Hermione pressed her lips together, her temper hitting the limits of her restraint. "No you're right, you're much worse, you're the bad guy!"

"Da! Da!" He chuckled and lifted her towards the bed.

Her heart raced in uncertainty as they approached the bedroom.

Would he...?

Hermione desperately looked up with wet eyes at him. She hoped to Merlin he did not mean he was truly evil.

~o~

a/n: Thank you so much for reading along and reviewing, I really appreciate people are enjoying this story :) Have a spectacular weekend! And I promise to update again tomorrow if we can get to 30 reviews! :)


	10. Chapter 10

A/n: Thanks so much for all the awesome feedback! If the story gets to 40 reviews, I will get the next chapter uploaded again by tomorrow! thanks for reading along

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~o~

"Da, da! V'you Englishwomen talk so much and obey so little!" Antonin grunted, more to himself than her.

Antonin Dolohov dropped her unceremoniously on top of the mattress and Hermione yelped as she fell from his arms. The bed was covered in quilts and soft sheets and she bounced a bit as she landed. However, her frozen frostbit body still hurt to be dropped three feet onto any surface, soft or not.

"Ouch! What was that for?!"

"You called me the vlad guy, maybe I should act v'like it more, instead of pampering my princess! V'you will become spoiled and then I will have to send v'you back."

His eyes stared at her darkly and she looked away before she was hypnotized by his eyes again.

"As if that would such a bad idea," Hermione replied smartly. "Though you must be delusional if you think abducting me and keeping me in a cabin is anything remotely like being treated as a princess."

Antonin grinned and put his hands on his hips. "V'Would you rather I put you outside again, ptitsa? I can make that happen!"

Hermione was about to answer him smartly that she'd gladly stay out in the snow to avoid his touch. Or that she'd gladly make another escape attempt, and this time she might succeed if she took his wand with her. Perhaps she could elbow him in the crotch then grab his wand and make a dash for it.

But his eyes told her not to push his temper further. He would not be so lenient.

She was also very aware she was dressed only in her bra and underwear.

Hermione shifted away from him on the bed but he caught hold of her foot.

He tutted and pressed his hand tighter around her foot.

"Please don't, _they hurt_," she pleaded.

She winced in pain as he touched her toes one by one with the back of his finger.

_"I know._ Don't move," he instructed and took out his wand from his belt pocket. Hermione made a mental note of how he kept his wand there, for future escape attempts, if she could only get him distracted enough to take the wand from him. Yet she was hardly in a state to fight him with her feet too sore to even walk one meter, let alone miles.

He waved the wand around and muttered some incantation softly in Russian.

A feeling of warmth and blood flow crept back at once into her toes and she flexed her feet comfortably.

Within a few seconds, the circulation and feeling in her feet was normal again. When she tried, she could wriggle her toes comfortably again. Perhaps she'd even be able to walk on her feet, though she wasn't too eager to try so soon...after she fell face-first onto the floor earlier when she tried the first time. Her nose hurt and when she touched it she felt a trickle of blood dampen her fingers.

"Thank you," she couldn't help grunting under her breath. "They feel better."

"Good." Antonin nodded and handed her a cloth to wipe her nose.

As he watched her pat at her injured nose, he offered to use another spell to reduce the swelling. "I can...fix?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine," she snapped.

She hoped secretly her nose might swell up and she'd look too awful for Antonin to be attracted to her.

Yet a moment later, she felt her eyes widen as Antonin looked her up and down leisurely and didn't say anything as he stared at her...and it was rather obvious what he was thinking.

"Good, v'you are feeling better! I am going to make v'us dinner and then v'we v'will consummate this marriage once or for all." He winked and removed his belt and left it by the bed, while storing his wand into his pant pocket.

Was he seriously casually threatening to rape her? Like mentioning it as casually as if they were going to have a tennis match after supper.

Hermione's jaw slackened.

Yet, keeping her wits about her, her eyes lowered to see where he kept his wand and when she might get a chance to take it from him...When she also noticed another bulge beside his wand.

Oh great Merlin. _"You have to be kidding me,"_ she whispered to herself.

She inhaled sharply and her heart rushed wildly in her chest like it had never done before in her life. A mixture of fear and, though loathe to admit it, lust brood in her veins. She tried to quickly look away from his pants but Antonin had already noticed her checking him out. She was terrified of this wizard in all honestly, for so many different reasons, besides the fact that he was unpredictable, dark, and nothing like Ron. Definitely, nothing like Ron, even physically Antonin was completely different. She had never seen Ron's you-know-what when they'd been dating, but then Ron's had never stuck out so prominently from his pants. So large. Thick. _Prominent_ from the looks of it.

Antonin enjoyed that she had checked out his package and he grinned wickedly. "Unless you v'wish to skip dinner and v'want me to get started instead, hmmm?"

The cheeky bastard was getting way too confident and ahead of himself. Hermione blushed despite her anger. "No, thank you, you can take a raincheck on that, forever!"

"Okay, okay," the Russian said yet Dolohov's mood was undeterred. He flicked his fingers casually against the stubble on his cheeks. "I v'will cook tonight but don't expect this beyond tonight. I expect my wife to cook for me and wait on me hand and foot."

Hermione felt her temper boil again. "I will NOT be some housewife for you, or be treated like some slavic maid, making you meals or polishing your boots like some kind of slave!"

"Polishing my shoes?" He looked down at his boots. "Good idea, v'you will do that tomorrow, on your knees," he added with a leer. "Oh and I von't have polish so v'you will have to spit and use that."

"Bastard!"

Hermione wanted to jump onto his back and try to tackle him to the ground, but she knew that might end badly. Especially when she only wore her bra and panties, so she quickly grabbed the blanket and covered herself before he got even more brazen. Though her body was churning with all kinds of mixed emotions. There was a part of her that absolutely loathed him. There was another, equal, competing part that wanted nothing better than to yank him by his long black hair and kiss him again. His wand, the other one, looked uncomfortably and perhaps deliciously full. Good Merlin, she needed to control her mind before it got her in trouble. Come to think of it, there had always existed this undeniable sexual tension between her and Dolohov every other time she had a run in with the tall Russian over the years.

"Just go away okay?!" she snapped and edged away as far as possible from Dolohov. She was afraid he might change his mind and take her right then and there before supper.

"Okay my v'wife, if you v'wish," Antonin smirked.

She had no doubt what he had on his mind for later.

"I will never be your wife," she reminded him. "Whether you try something or not, I will NEVER submit to you!"

"Tisk tisk. As if v'you have the choice about that. Da, da, it is not for the v'wife but husband to say!"

"You're despicable!" Hermione grabbed the nearest thing she could get a hold of and hurled it at Dolohov. She ended up throwing a soft pillow at him. Dolohov didn't even blink as the small pillow hit him in the face. It amused him.

He lowered himself over the bed, his hands on either side of her hips, and he looked right at her at eye level as he leaned over.

His voice was a dangerous whisper that made her lower half ablaze in lust. And hate too. "I'm the bad guy, da. Vhat did you expect, a Disney fairytale ending?" his gentle whisper made her shiver.

~o~


	11. Chapter 11

~o~

Dolohov had left to go back to the kitchen and make dinner so Hermione was left alone in the bedroom.

Her mind churned with uncomfortable thoughts of the last ten minutes: from the way he had dropped her on the bed, to the his pants bulged with a hint of what lay beneath, to the way Antonin spoke so casually of what they would do later...or his rude reaction to her rebuff to such proposals. Did Antonin really think *_she*_ was being the unreasonable one by not cheerfully agreeing to hand over her body and soul to him? That didn't make her spoiled or a princess attitude because she refused to marry him. She certainly did not expect her life to be a fairy tale, and clearly, her life was far from it. _More like a nightmare!_

"A fairy tale ending? Hardly," Hermione thought in disgust. "If I just don't want to be abducted, or worse, raped, that isn't setting the bar very high." Who knew a certain Russian wizard considered that asking for a fairy tale happy ending. Unbelievable. His sense of entitlement, not hers, was off the charts and spoiled. She wouldn't even know where to begin in telling Harry and Ron her crazy tale if she got to speak to them.

She really missed them right now, especially Harry. She could tell Harry anything and she trusted him as a friend to not betray her trust or overreact emotionally like Ron sometimes did.

The Gryffindor brunette hugged herself under the blankets, trying to find both heat and comfort. She never felt so alone...perhaps more alone then when Dolohov had been here taunting her.

Perhaps she was developing Stockholm Syndrome if she felt lonelier without the wizard's intrusive company. Though the way he grinned at her sometimes, with his dark eyes shining, made her heart skip a beat...but she'd better not think of that...The repercussions made her uncomfortable, when she really thought of the growing heat between them. It wasn't all one-way...

To pass the time, she chewed at her fingernails until they were ragged.

Though she felt rather pathetic hiding in the bedroom like this.

_"Wait, what am I doing?!"_ She dodged her head out from the blankets. She was so disgusted with herself. Giving up so easily? No. She glanced around the small bedroom. She couldn't give Dolohov win so easily. He had basically threatened to rape her here after he was done making supper. There was no way she could allow that to happen. She had to fight him with everything she had. And unfortunately, since Dolohov was about a foot taller and more than a hundred pounds heavier than her, she needed a weapon against him.

_ "Think Hermione! You may not be able to get outside again but there has to be something in here that could help...somehow," _she told herself._  
_

Surely there was something she could use as a weapon against him when he came back to the bedroom. Maybe a sharp object she could hide and then use to bash him on the head with to knock him unconscious.

Listening carefully at the door, she made sure that Dolohov was busy in the kitchen (she could hear the sound of clanking pots and the distant chop of a knife)... the brunette tiptoed out of the bed in her underwear. She shivered once again.

Almost a split second later, Dolohov spoke to her from the kitchen. "Vere are clothes in the closet, ptitsa, if v'you are cold!" he shouted from all the way down the hall.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot. How had Antonin heard her? Did he have hearing even better than a wolf?

She shook her head and decided to raid his closet since he had allowed her to do so.

The closet was filled with his clothes, wool sweaters, fur coats, and thick double layered pants. The clothes smelled like him, a mixture of pine trees, wood, snow and something else musky and masculine she couldn't quite put her finger on. Despite herself, she liked his scent. He sort of smelt like Viktor, another Eastern European wizard...who had once upon a time seduced her heart and then broke it. She had stuck to English men since then, her own kind: sane, reasonable, self-suppressing English wizards. Too timid and restrained to make a bold move on a woman, let alone abduct her in sack.

She snickered at the thought of an Englishman trying to attempt the same mad behaviour, he'd be sent straight to Azkaban or St. Mungo's and never let out. But it was a different world here.

The small brunette reached towards the back of the closet and rifled quietly through different clothes until she finally found something that might fit her and not look too ridiculous or revealing. "This should work," she thought. She bit her lip as she slipped on the clothing.

She checked the rest of the room, and the bottom of the closet, for a weapon or heavy rock or heavy piece of steel, but found nothing...except an old shoe which wasn't nearly hard enough to hit him with.

She put the shoe back in its place so as not to arise suspicion she'd been snooping.

~o~

When Dolohov called her again, telling her supper was ready, Hermione willingly jumped out of the bed and found her way to the kitchen. Her feet weren't hurting too badly anymore though she still walked with a slight limp. Also she was full dressed now so she felt less self-conscious. Although the only thing in her size she had found in his closet happened to be a night robe. Which was a bright pink colour. And very frilly. And smelt like moth balls from like a hundred years ago.

Antonin burst into laughter when he caught side of her in the pink fuzzy, lace-covered nightgown.

"V'What are v'you wearing, my grandmother's old clothes?!" Antonin broke into another peal, of almost wolfish, sexy laughter.

Hermione frowned, not enjoying being the butt of the joke. "It's all I could find." Plus, reminding him of his grandmother was a good thing in her opinion; she didn't want to look sexy or be in only her underwear again. She didn't want Dolohov getting anymore bad ideas that he already possessed in his deranged mind.

"Sit down, v'your food v'is ready," he ordered.

She sat down at a small wood table which had only two chairs: one for her and one for Dolohov.

Against her own will, her stomach growled loudly as she smelt and saw the delicious food; whatever it was smelled heavenly. She was so hungry and starved she would've eaten anything in front of her without even considering if it might be poisoned or laced with Veritaserum. She must've been driven mad by her hunger as she took in the scent of the rich meal.

He set out a plate and scooped out several large heaps of the hot steaming food.

"Eat up!" Antonin commanded her, like she was some dog.

Unfortunately, she acted just like an obedient dog, by just blindly shoveling the food into her mouth as fast as she could she was so hungry.

When she had eaten and her belly felt comfortably full, she wiped her mouth and took a drink of the herbal tea Dolohov had also served.

"Did v'you like v'your husband's coooking?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, it was delicious. But, no, you are not my husband."

Antonin licked at his spoon while looking at her with bedroom eyes. Hermione gulped and felt herself lowering her eyes.

"Of course, not v'yet!" Antonin said. "All in time."

She changed the topic of conversation quickly before it got creepy again. "So tell me, what was your recipe?" She raked her memory to think of what she had been eating but she hadn't recognized any of the ingredients. It tasted sort of like chicken, sort of. And there had been some leafy greens and something similar to carrots that tasted like a turnip. It had been a Russian vegetable chicken stew perhaps?

Antonin was still eating his stew and shook his head. "I don't think v'you've eaten Russian food before, da?"

"No," Hermione agreed. "What is it? It tasted good, whatever it was."

Antonin grinned at her. "Rabbit stew, for my little rabbit."

Hermione nearly threw up the contents of her stomach.

~o~

a/n: Thanks so much for reading along and all the nice reviews y'all left. I hope you liked this chapter and stay tuned for more :)


	12. Chapter 12

~o~

"Rabbit?" Hermione wiped at her mouth trying to get the taste of guilt out of her mouth. A nice fluffy cute rabbit? She friggin loved rabbits. She even had a pet rabbit as a child called Floppy-Ears. She'd grown up feeding him lettuce and carrots while her parents allowed him to run rampant in their small English backyard and nibble everything in sight. She _loved_ that rabbit.

Hermione's eyes began to water.

"V'what is wrong now?" Antonin broke the silence with his heavy accent, his gruff voice intruding into her thoughts.

"I feel like a monster," she whispered, for once frankly.

"v'What because you ate a little vunny? Ha, ha, ah my English rose, what v'odd ideas v'you entertain!"

Hermione just shook her head, refusing to even look at him.

"I love rabbits," she insisted unamused and finally the tears in her wet eyes spilled over the rims so she could not hide them any longer.

"Oy sorry, v'now I know! No rabbits for 'Ermione," Antonin said seriously though she was certain if she looked over to him he would be smiling wickedly again.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and glared across the table at Antonin; she expected to accost him for his cruelty.

However, she was proved wrong. Antonin was not grinning or laughing at her misery.

His face was almost stony and soberly kind of disappointed and glum.

So perhaps the cold wizard had a heart somewhere beyond that wicked exterior. Or, at least, the sense to not laugh at her while she cried. He even showed her some sympathy earlier with her feet...not that she trusted him. He'd soon gone back to taunting her in the bedroom shortly after he'd healed her toes. He'd pretty much threatened to rape her moments after showing his soft side and healing her. Perhaps Antonin would show an ugly, wicked side again...and she didn't want to stay to find out.

Antonin took a sip of his tea while staring at her. "Feeling v'better?"

She nodded numbly. "May I be excused?" She realized she was asking permission to leave the table like she was at home with her parents again. What an unhappy turn of events, to leave home, go to Hogwarts, nearly graduate from Hogwarts, only to return to a house where she was very much out of control and had to follow rules.

"Da, if you no longer v'wish to share my company," Antonin nodded back at her, mirroring her body language. He put the tea cup down and cradled the porcelain between his hands; his large, brutal hands enswamped the cup.

Yet as she was about to leave the kitchen, she realized she had nowhere to go, so she decided to not get up from the chair yet. As much as she wished to escape Antonin's company, she realized it was perhaps unwise to lead him back to the bedroom. Though her body longed to be wrapped up in the warm quilted blankets again.

"How old are v'you, ptitsa?"

"Nineteen," she said staring back at him. She refused to show him any more fear. Or her tears. No matter how much she hated him for doing this to her and bringing her to this strange land.

"Ah v'yes. I thought v'you might be twenty or more, but no v'you are a young vun."

"Too young to marry you maybe?" she suggested with arched eyebrows. Maybe she could talk reason with him, though Hermione knew enough that the age of consent was probably way lower here.

Antonin laughed at her. "No, not vhat young. V'You are older than both my mama and papa v'when they got married." He hummed and scratched at his beard. "In fact, v'you are v'older than my grandmother when she got married, much older. My grandmother, v'whose nightdress v'you wear, v'was only sixteen v'when she married my grandfader."

Hermione felt something irk in her at hearing about how young everyone in his backwards family married. "Okay, okay," she said impatiently. "I get it I'm older than everyone in your family when they got married!" She looked out the window to see more snow falling. Great, now the snow would be even deeper when or if she ever got the chance to escape again. Did it ever cease to snow? Was there a such thing as spring here?

England never felt so far away, or so warm, by contrast.

She gave Antonin a look up and down as a thought occurred to her. If everyone in wizarding Russian families married so young, why was Antonin marrying her now? Why wasn't he already married?

The thought ran through her brain several times before she couldn't contain her silence any longer.

She stared, almost hostile, at Antonin. "So why didn't you get married young? How old are you? You can't be young."

Antonin Dolohov, for all his poking fun at her and teasing her, was no spring chicken himself. She guessed the wizard at anywhere between thirty-three and forty. He had no grey hairs yet in his beard, his hair was all jet black and healthy, full, growing in abundance...but there was something also unmistakably older and worn about him as if he'd seen many horrific things in his life.

Antonin's eyes darkened and for a moment she actually saw him appear troubled and sullen. "I v'whas married young." His voice became extremely low so that she almost didn't hear him. "She died."

~o~

Sorry this is a short chapter so I will update again tomorrow. What do you think happened to Antonin's wife? Did he kill her, did Voldemort kill her or did she die naturally? Is antonin a bastard or does he actually have a heart?

thanks so much and see ya tomorrow :D


	13. Chapter 13

~o~

Hermione tried to work her jaw as she stared in shock at Dolohov.

_He was married?_

_And his wife had died? He was a widow...Antonin a widowed man. _

She had no idea. What could she possibly say? She had never lost anyone that close to her in her life, though the Death Eaters tried. So far they had not taken anyone close to her. Harry and Ron and Ginny were still alive. And her parents were still safely in Australia under the fake identities her memory charms gave them before the start of the war.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

For once...Hermione Granger was at a loss for words. She had no book she had read or could refer to at this moment. In fact, she could not think of anything else to say than 'sorry'. Which was the truth. She did feel compassionate towards Antonin right now.

She stared at Antonin wide-eyed but the man said nothing and looked down at his hands. A vein showed at the top of his clenched fist. Was Antonin regretting telling her this information or giving her insight into his life? Like he didn't want her to see his weaknesses or know he was human, not a wild animal.

It felt incredibly odd comforting a hardened, murdering Death Eater...but she had to try.

She wouldn't be Hermione Granger, if she didn't have compassion, even for monsters and murderers who hated muggles.

Antonin may have abducted her and threatened her many times in her short life but she did still have empathy. He looked absolutely broken now and she knew it must be because mentioning his wife dying brought back all kinds of memories.

Hermione could not stop staring at Antonin.

"What happened?"

Antonin sat back from the table and wrestled his hands through his hair. "I could not protect her. I wasn't able...to get there in time."

"What do you mean? What time was this?"

"It v'was the first v'war." He looked angrily up at her. "V'What the history books at Hogwarts don't teach v'you, is that v'your side killed as many as mine! Or how the v'war really started, v'why people looked up to Voldemort in the first place! Mudak muggle!"

His anger disturbed her but she said nothing.

Some trauma must've happened to him and she decided it was best she did not contest him on his version of history. Whatever trauma or pain he held in, had better let it come out.

"There v'was a terrible muggle leader in Russia, the soviet communists," he said bitterly. "These muggle bastards wanted to kill all the magical Russians, eliminate us! They hated v'us!" There were now tears falling out of Dolohov's eyes and he sobbed. "They killed my Oliviana! She v'was innocent! She never hurt even a rabbit, she was like v'you ptitsa, an innocent!"

Hermione covered her mouth. Tears stung at her eyes too.

The kitchen filled from the loud noise of Dolohov's chair scraping backwards as he got up from the table and his heavy boots strode towards her.

He loomed over her, tall and menacing, a look of pure hatred consumed his usually mirthful eyes. "Vhat vis why is joined Death Eaters. I v'was a young man who lost his v'wife, his first and true love, to the monster that is mudak muggles!"

"I'm so sorry, Antonin, I am truly sorry for what happened to you and your wife, but you cannot blame this on muggles! Not all muggles are like the ones that killed your wife, you have to believe me," she stammered. Why did she feel like she was confronting a wild animal? Antonin looked positively unhinged like he could choke her. She never felt more afraid of him than she did now...perhaps because she knew Dolohov was human now and he had his own rationality for hating her kind. Even if his logic was completely twisted.

"You can't blame this on muggles," she said quietly.

She didn't raise her voice but the statement seemed to provoke his ire more.

"I can and I w'vill!" Antonin shouted. "The _mudak_!"

He threw one of the chairs down from the table. His one movement and the sheer force of only his bare hands sent the chair into a sad pile of broken wood and splinters on the floor.

Hermione wondered if she had finally tested his temper too far. She felt herself rooted to the spot, unable to move or blink or turn away from the man who stood across from her...with so much anger in his eyes.

Was he going to hit her because she was muggleborn or did he only hate muggles?

She closed her eyes as he reached a hand towards her.

She flinched violently as his skin touched hers.

But instead of hurting her, he rubbed his fingers gently against her cheek.

His finger traced down to outline her lips with the delicatest touch like he was touching a porcelain doll.

She opened her eyes again. They both met each other's cold wet eyes. "V'you look so much like Oliviana, like v'when we got married. I knew v'when I saw v'you the first time in the Ministry of Magic, v'you would be mine one day."

"If you thought that," she asked and remembered the way he held her in the Ministry of Magic with so much force, as if he didn't want to let her go before one of his curses struck her. "Why did you let me go?"

Antonin wiped away the tears and a cheerful grin reappeared on his face.

"C'mon, I'm no monster, I allowed you to grow didn't I? V'you are more mature now, I hope?" he attempted to snicker.

Hermione breathed in heavily. "I don't know about that."

She blushed. She had indeed grown and had all kinds of experiences since three years ago in the Ministry of Magic. She was a more mature person, especially in her womanly appearance. But in sexual experiences? She had a short and heated relationship with Ron. But she had never submitted herself to any man, not in that way. Ron and her broke up exactly because she hadn't felt ready to sleep with him.

So now she was here. With Dolohov. Married, apparently, by some arbitrary archaic law. Had Dolohov really wanted her to grow and be more mature before he came back to claim her? Was he really so lenient? Somehow she imagined a Russian who believed in putting burlap sacks according to ancient tradition, might also expect his bride to be virgin.

"Did you actually want me to be more mature before you married me?" she asked_. Like did he want her to have experience or something? Or did he have some semblance of humanity that he didn't outright kidnap her when she was still a teen? _She felt genuinely confused.

"I v'don't want tears, that's for sure, ptitsa," Antonin spoke. "I could never stand to see Oliviana hurt."

"I am not Oliviana."

"I know that, ptitsa."

"You may be disappointed," Hermione said even more firmly. "I am not that mature. I still have not, uh.." She exhaled out heavily. "...Not, you know..."

"_Svolach._" Antonin swore in Russian. "No v'wonder you've v'wanted to get away from me."

He stared at her lips before pressing his own to them. Hermione closed her eyes, savouring the feel and taste of him. "V'you are afraid."

"No," she breathed. "Just not ready."

~o~

.

.

A/N: I hate the number 13, so please prove me otherwise by showing this chapter some love, thank u! :) and hope everyone is surprised in a good way by antonin's character development. Despite the title, in case you didn't guess by now, I didn't want Antonin to be a complete bastard or monster. Though I think every three dimensional villain, even actual monsters, do have good sides or some redeeming characteristics?

sorry if the russian swearing was off btw, i can take pointers if there's any russians reading who know how to swear properly! I would like to know some more russian swears if you have suggestions i can edit in.


	14. Chapter 14

a/n: chapter is the same but i realized ch 14&15 were too short so i combined them into one

* * *

~O~

"I'm not afraid of you, Dolohov I'm just not _ready_," she repeated that last word more firmly so that he got the message.

Antonin missed nothing and nodded his head right away.

Hermione breathed out in relief.

Yet he stepped towards her and lifted her chin so that she was forced to look upwards into his eyes. "You are ready, v'you are my v'wife. I v'will not make it hurt, ptitsa. Promise."

He kissed her again, more roughly, tugging at her bottom lip.

Against her will, Hermione found her whole body responding to him like snow melting beneath a hot fire. Her breath turned into soft pants that caught in her throat and her heart raced and quickened as he kissed her until she found herself moaning against his mouth.

Antonin pulled back to smirk at her. "V'hou see? I vill make v'you ready."

She must've been feeling dizzy because she nodded at him, agreeing with him for a change. For some ungodly reason, she couldn't get enough of his kisses.

He brought his lips back to her and this time she clung to him, even reaching a hand to run through his hair for the first time.

As she had imagined, Dolohov's black hair was as soft to the touch and thick as dark ropes of silk or a horse's mane. She gasped as Antonin deepened the kiss this time with his tongue.

This time she accepted his tongue and her whole stomach flared with butterflies as Dolohov's delicious tongue penetrated her mouth over and over again.

While not releasing her lips, Dolohov lifted her by the bum off the kitchen chair and onto the table, sending plates clattering off the small surface.

Hermione began to panic as she realized what was happening and how quickly the situation had escalated with only a kiss. Merlin, how could she have allowed Dolohov to get this far with her? How could she allow him to touch her in ways she never had been touched or kissed by anyone. Ron, or Vron as Dolohov called him, had certainly never kissed her like this. Why was she panting and responding to his touch like she actually wanted him?_ He's a Death Eater, I hate him, _she thought.

"Stop! Stop!" she stuttered as she suddenly pulled away from Antonin. Though her body ached to be released from his magnetic touch and it felt so wrong to pull away from him, despite knowing how wrong it was to kiss him.

Dolohov's pupils were dilated. His eyes bore into her like hypnotic beams of dark night. "Vhat is v'wrong?"

"What _isn't_ wrong here? I am in Russia!" she said and gesticulated further to how she was sitting on the table with her knees spread so that he stood between her. With a Death Eater. "Why shouldn't I be panicking!"

"Calm down, ptitsa, I am v'warming you up!"

"No!" Hermione fought against her own body and biological drive to do what was right in this moment. She was Hermione Granger, she had moral fiber. She did not consort with those who gladly followed the Dark Lord or resorted to hating others based on their blood status. Antonin Dolohov, tragic past or not, remained her sworn enemy and bride-abducting bastard. "I need to get out of here. I am not doing this with you."

She wanted to jump off the table but Dolohov did not budge. He kept her pinned there with his own body leaning in between her open knees, his hands holding down her arms at her sides.

With only the nightgown on, she looked down to see his crotch pressed nearly against her thighs.

She felt her tears water. "Please don't do this Dolohov."

"Antonin," he corrected her. "Or Toni, if v'you v'wish."

"I can't do this," she sobbed.

"I am v'your husband. I vill not make you do anything you do not v'want to do." He inhaled sharply taking in the smell of her hair. "But I do know v'you want me, as you should, I am v'your husband. V'you must take out these desires with me. I v'will help you get the feeling out and calm down again."

He released one of her arms to grab the tie that kept her hair in a ponytail. Her hair fell down in wild, untamed locks.

"You are like a wild horse in heat," he whispered softly against her ear. "I am the stallion. The stud."

~o~

_ Antonin _whispered softly against her ear and said something in Russian but she had heard enough in English.

Wait. What. Did he just compare her to an animal in heat? Hermione could never get a grasp of these weird Russian metaphors. They weren't euphemisms or romantic to her ears.

She felt affronted and angry again, rather than helpless or intoxicated by his touch.

"Did you really just compare me to an animal in heat?" Hermione asked him in displeasure.

"It vis true isn't it?"

"How dare you compare me to an animal! I am a human being, a woman, not some farm animal!"

"It vas a metaphor, calm down," Antonin said, still pinning her arms down as he stood in between her open legs dangling over the edge of the kitchen table.

"I do not like it! It's possibly the most insulting comment, anyone, has made to me." Good Merlin. She thought Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but Dolohov had an even worse habit of putting his foot in his mouth.

"It vis true," Antonin said again.

"How can you be so presumptuous, as if you would even know when people are feeling that way or not, in heat or whatever?!" Hermione exclaimed wildly, insulted by him. Surely Antonin did not even have a remote grasp of when a woman ovulated or anything like that, not that she would dignify his claims with a specific response. She glared up at him. "Why I never heard something so absurd, as if you even knew, you presumptuous little reptile!"

Antonin chuckled and she should've known he was about to do something to her that was even more insulting than the comment. "I can prove it, ptitsa, if v'you want."

Hermione glared at him, wishing him to die from her scathing look alone that told him to jump off a cliff.

Instead, to her shock, Dolohov lifted her knees further apart and reached a hand inside her nightgown.

"What are you doing?" She struggled against him, trying to get out of his vice grip on her body. "Just what do you think you are doing?!"

"Proving v'myself right!"

"No!" The sick bastard put his hand in her panties.

She squirmed against him, trying to keep her legs closed but it was useless, his hand slipped right into her underwear and felt the wetness there.

"V'wet, my little liar," he exclaimed victoriously and in distraction he brought his hand back to lick at his wet fingers.

With only hand holding her down to the table, she had a split second chance to get away. Particularly with him distracted by lust.

Hermione didn't lose the chance, she kneed him hard in the balls.

~o~


	15. Chapter 15

~o~

Antonin screamed in agony, bending over his injured groin where she had kneed him as hard as possible. Ignoring his agonized sounds, Hermione didn't waste a second to skip past him and run to the other side of the cabin. She opened the front door again and saw the blizzard of snow continued to turn the outer world into an inferno, or rather a giant upside snow globe. She knew how miserable and unsuccessful her earlier escape attempt had been, and remembered the way her toes had almost frozen off.

She needed a wand.

That is the only she could ensure she never came back here again.

But did she have time, before Antonin regained himself, to take his wand?

She had to try, _dammit. _

She couldn't stay here and be either raped, or worse seduced, by Antonin. Somehow the second possibility seemed much more dangerous.

Knowing she had only a few seconds before he regained his composure, she bravely ran back to Antonin and lifted the corner of his shirt so she could grab his wand out of his belt holster. She felt a familiar vibration of power once she held the wand in her grasp, even though the wand was not her own.

Just as her hand slipped the wand away from him, Antonin's hand shot out and grabbed her hand by the wrist. He squeezed her wrist so hard she screamed in her own agony of pain and trepidation. "Let me go!" she flailed wildly in his grip, trying to detach him from her.

"Let go of my wand, ptitsa, and I v'will let go of your arm!"

"No!" She was about to use his wand to paralyze him in the spot when the wand fell out of her grasp and clattered to the floor between them.

Both of them lunged for the wand at the same time.

Hermione was faster and caught the wand first, but Antonin had been jumping towards the wand too and now his whole weight crashed down right on top of both her and the wand.

Hermione let out a blood curdling scream such as you hear when a cat gets run over by a car.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

"Ermione! I did not mean to crush v'you!" Antonin apologized as he got up from her, taking the wand from her hand at the same time. A hand attached to an arm that was now likely broken.

Hermione lay on the floor, certain several of her bones had been broken from having the likely two-hundred pound 6 foot 1 tall muscular grown man crash his whole weight on her earlier. He had squished her between his weight, gravity and the cruel, unyielding wood floor. Hermione felt her eyes well up as her whole body began to throb in pain.

"Help me," she begged. "Please, I think you broke my arm or leg!" She groaned and tried to move them but it hurt even more. "Or both maybe."

"Shhh, I vill help v'you," Dolohov carefully lifted her off the ground using his wand and hovered her to the bedroom.

This time he let her fall as gently as a feather on top of the bed. He then pulled a blanket over her.

"V'Where does it hurt? I v'will fix it."

Hermione flinched as he tenderly touched her arm with the back of his fingers, stroking her arm like she was made of glass.

Would she ever get out of Dolohov's grasp, or would she have fallen in love with him by that time?

She stared at his handsome face and now familiar dark eyes, before she sighed loudly to wreck the intense staring contest between them.

She pointed with her good arm to her collarbone on her other side which had obviously broken under the weight. "My shoulder and this arm, I think they're broken. Also something is wrong with my leg, perhaps just bruising, but perhaps worse."

Antonin nodded before he waved his wand—the same wand she had though she'd successfully taken for a moment—and said some healing spells in Russian. The nuances and sounds of Russian were completely different than English and something about the tone of his voice in this foreign language...made her stomach flip flop. She realized how hot it was whenever Antonin spoke Russian...not that he wasn't already sort of hot already, even with his heavy accent speaking in English. Wait, did she just think of Toni as hot? Good lord. She needed to stop thinking like this, especially when they were in this bedroom and she was completely powerless.

Hermione tried to look away from him and knit her brows as he finished the healing spells.

As Antonin fixed several bruises on her body before they bloomed, he did one last final fancy spell in Russian pointing at her arms and legs.

The next second, Hermione felt heavy metal chains appear on all her arms and legs, chaining her to the bed and rendered helpless.

She gazed in shock at the metal chains...just when she thought Antonin was not all bad, he was seriously going to treat her like an animal, or worse, a sex slave, chained to a bloody bed?!

"What the hell is your problem? Are you seriously going to chain me here to the bed?"

Antonin tutted. "V'You leave me no choice, ptitsa. I do this for v'your own good, I can't have v'you trying anymore escape attempts and breaking more bones."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, hoping she'd wake up from this weird dream. And far away from Antonin Dolohov.

Nope, she was still here with Antonin Dolohov, in Russia, in a small cabin, surrounded by miles upon miles of snow. With no way out and now chained to a bed.

"Don't v'worry," Dolohov said, his voice sounding tired. "V'You are scared. We v'will leave it at that. Goodnight."

With that, he flicked his wand at the lamp to turn off the lights in the small bedroom and he walked out.

As the door to the bedroom door slammed shut...Hermione was left with her mouth open. _Really? Just like that?_

Had Antonin really just left her alone, unharmed? Had she really proven such a nuisance to him, the man would rather sleep alone in the living room?

She felt almost guilty.

No, what was she telling herself? Guilty, her? No.

_"Hermione you had every reason to kick him in the balls and escape,"_ she told herself._ "Stay mad. Maybe if I drive him mad enough, he will give up and see I'm not wife material and let me go."_

Merlin's sake. _Wife material._ How did she even think of that phrase? Of course she was right to drive Antonin to the end of his wits. It served him right for abducting her. Maybe he really would tire of keeping her here and just move on. Maybe even send her back to England with her wand and a note to never return to Russia...

With that reassuring hope in mind, she soon fell asleep exhausted. For a few hours.

Until there was a loud crash and she was startled awake.

~o~


	16. Chapter 16

~o~

She awoke in the middle of the night to find Antonin had returned drunk to the bedroom.

First, she heard the loud noise of glass breaking in the living room, before Antonin came stumbling back towards the bedroom and kicked open the door with his heavy boots still on.

Her eyes shot open in alarm to see Antonin stumbling towards her on the bed. He smelt heavily of vodka and other liquor.

So he had stayed up drinking while she slept? Men! they were the same in Russia as they were in Britain, getting drunk for no good reason, and then causing a ruckus for everyone else.

"Go away," she instructed the drunk Russian in disgust. "I don't want you here," she said as calmly as possible.

Truth be told, she felt more afraid of Dolohov when he was drunk than when he had been sober.

There was something unhinged about the wizard now.

"Ptitsa!" he bellowed at her. "How can v'you address me like vhat! I am vhour husband! After v'all I've done for vyou! Ungrateful Englishwvoman!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh yes and what have you done for me exactly? I don't recall you ever doing anything good for me except kidnapping me...and fixing my arm after you broke it," she added.

Antonin stumbled towards the bed and sat down on the bed, barely missing her leg. Luckily, she moved her leg out of the way in time. She certainly could not bare to be crushed by Antonin's full weight again...he truly was heavy and strong and she did not covet breaking a bone again.

She tried to inch away from him in the bed yet there was nowhere to move, really, with her arms still tied to the frame of the bed.

His breath smelt even more heavily of vodka as he spoke directly to her, though she could not make out his facial expressions too well in the dark. The room was dimly lit by the reflection of stars and moon on the snow outside the window behind the bed.

His hand reached out to pat her hair, rather disorderly, so he ended up making a mess of her already frizzy, bushy hair.

He leaned in closer to her, as if sharing a secret. "Who do v'you think it v'was v'who saved v'you from death at the Ministry of Magic?" He pointed at his chest proudly. "ME."

"What?"

Now this was unexpected. She'd never thought Antonin would try to make a claim like this.

Hermione thought back to that night Sirius Black died. There had been so many Death Eaters and they'd only been kids, mostly defenseless, even when the Order arrived. She remembered how Antonin had grabbed her halfway through the battle and kept her out of...out of what? Antonin attacked her didn't he? Then she passed out for the rest of the fight. The bloody liar. How could he claim something so absurd like he saved her? Antonin was the one who hit her with a terrible hex that struck her chest and incapacitated her for the rest of the battle.

"You attacked me! How is that saving me?!" she stammered, furious he would lie to her like this. Not that she trusted him to begin with. But how could he tell such wild absurd tales, especially while drunk in the middle of the night?

"Did my hex kill v'you?" he scoffed.

"No, it bloody didn't! But I blacked out it was so bad!"

Antonin snorted. "I didn't kill v'you ptitsa, I kept v'you out of harms way!"

"By hexing me?!"

"Da! V'When the other Death Eaters saw I had v'you, they didn't attack v'you. I saved v'your life. Then I let v'you go by pretending to be hit by that Order auror!"

"Oh my god, it is true." Hermione whispered more to herself than him. "You did actually spare me from the battle. I thought it was an accident all this time, I didn't think you intentionally helped me survive."

Antonin drunkenly leaned backwards on the bed so his head rested besides hers. "Ahh it v'was nothing ptitsa! V'we Russian men don't always take credit vor our good deeds, but vee do do them, all the same! V'Your Englishmen are more boastful!"

"I'm not so sure about that," Hermione said. Though her cheeks burned to think he had actually saved her and yet never boasted about it...til now when he was drunk.

"Vit is true!" Antonin said in a slurred voice, his accent more unintelligible. "Bou English are so cold. You call da Mother Russia cold but vit is English das is colder! Cold! Like you! A cold wife! Cruel so cruel to her busband!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at how thick he was being and how slurred his accent had become with the liquor.

"Yes, how cruel of me not to warm up to my abductor."

Antonin rolled over so he was facing her while laying beside her on the bed. He snuck a hand under the sheets and found her hip.

"Excuse me!" Hermione coughed. "Get your hand off me!"

Antonin just squeezed her hip more possessively.

Helpless, she wrangled against her chained arms. Though it made her heart beat wildly in her chest the way he held her flesh between his hands like he owned her. "Can't you go sleep in the living room? I thought that was why you left here."

"Noo! I v'left vecause I felt rejected by my stone cold v'wife!" Antonin moaned and rolled back over and started snoring.

Hermione stared incredulously at how abruptly he had gone from shouting at her to snoring.

Best not disturb him, she thought. There's no telling what he might try if he awoke again. She shifted under his hand so it fell away from her hips.

Antonin lay flat on the bed beside her snoring loudly.

She stared at his sleeping face for the longest time.

"I guess I never thanked you for saving my life, twice," she whispered to his unconscious face. "Hmm. It's not so easy to say thank you to someone who's supposed to be bad."

Antonin only breathed out deeply in response. His eyes twitching but not opening.

With his face half-lit by the moon's reflection on the snow outside her window, there seemed something almost supernatural about Antonin. Like he came out of a book, or a far away land. Well, that was half true. He certainly came from a far-away land with strange customs.

She lowered her eyes to his belt to see if his wand was there. It wasn't and there was no way she had of unchaining herself to search the rest of the house for where he left the wand.

She stayed awake a long time thinking of how she might escape, before her eyes grew heavy and she eventually passed out beside him.

~o~


	17. Chapter 17

a/n: The response to this story has been amazing, thank you so much for reading :D :D :D Also for anyone that found this story from my sirmione story, I have a new sirmione story called The Secret of Making Toast. I know antonin is wild and alluring but I remain a sirmione shipper at the core, if you know my writing. BTW I edited chapter 16 so now he doesn't grope her, he just grabs her by the hip. I had it before that he drunkenly groped her breast but then realized that would make Hermione even madder at him and resentful. So he didn't...though he will probably get her supermad and overstep her boundaries in the next few chapters..uh oh XD

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In the morning, Hermione comfortably pressed her lips together, feeling a bit thirsty, but otherwise very comfy in her bed.

Light streamed through the window onto her closed eyelids. All the muscles in her body felt very relaxed too like she'd had a deep workout, and she didn't really want to get up yet. Although she was awake now, she tried to snuggle her face deeper into her pillow, refusing to let go of the memory of her dream. Oh what a bloody dream!

What an extremely odd dream she had last night. Antonin Dolohov kidnapping her and wanting to marry her. Her married to a Death Eater? Oh what a crazy dream. Like the burlap sack law actually existed, even in Russia._ "Give me a break! I've never dreamed something so completely mad," _she thought and chuckled.

Hermione had to laugh at her wild imagination, but then she opened her eyes to a very shocking sight.

She was NOT in her bed back home in Britain.

She wasn't even alone.

Beside her slept, half nude, a shirtless Russian man...while, she looked down at herself, she wore only a thin nightgown...And she tried to move but couldn't...both her arms had been chained to the bed!

"Good Merlin, it's real, all of this nightmare is real," she muttered unhappily.

Disturbed by the sound of her voice, Antonin turned over in his sleep.

"You great big oaf," Hermione whispered more quietly. "What made you think it was alright to slip into bed with me?" Her eyes lowered. "And without a shirt."

Now that he was unconscious, however, she couldn't help staring at him as he slept, particularly at his chest.

His chest was nothing like Ron's, or even Harry's. It was much more masculine and manly, like Harry and Ron were boys, but Antonin was an actual man.

Dolohov had very wide shoulders like an athlete and the sinewed, powerful muscles to match. A trail of dark hair was sprinkled across his ample pecs and then lowered in a smaller trail to disappear below his boxers...

Hermione bit her lips as she saw that the wizard had morning wood in his sleep. She smirked. Underneath the tight fabric of his jeans something was trying to poke out.

_"Ermione,"_ Dolohov moaned in his sleep. His hips pistoned blindly in the air.

"Oh my god," Hermione tried not to laugh nervously and awake him from his obviously exciting dream. " I should not be here right now."

It made her incredibly uncomfortably to know the Death Eater was having an obviously exciting dream of her while she lay right next to him.

Yet she couldn't help staring as Dolohov moaned her name again and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She observed his well defined lips and sharp teeth as he moaned in his sleep and arched his back.

How...almost...cute. He was so responsive. Like he was about to explode.

He had well sculpted, almost aristocratic, facial features. A sharp nose, a strong jaw with dimples, his amazing black mustache and beard...she almost wished she could touch his beard again. Feel the sharp wires of his stubble rub against her hand.

"Hermione, get it together," she scolded herself.

Though she couldn't help thinking of Antonin slightly different from yesterday. Now that she knew more of his backstory, she could see a different side of him. She could imagine him as the young Russian wizard who lived in a nice manor in Moscow and married young to the love of his life, an almost idealistic athletic man...who then had his hopes and dreams crushed by the murders of millions of Russians by the muggle communists. Including his young wife whom he adored.

She wondered what Oliviana Dolohov had really looked like. Did she really share a resemblance to Hermione? Did she love animals and people of all kind just like, before her very innocence led her to the hands of the wrong people.

Hermione shook her head. She needed to stop getting involved in Antonin's past. The more she let her heartstrings be pulled, or perhaps manipulated, by Dolohov's tragic past...the more she got distracted from her true cause: survival. Tragic or not, Dolohov's current actions were not excused. The wizard chose to be a Death Eater. The wizard chose hate, over love. He choose Azkaban over admitting his wrongs and moving on. He had been a participant in both wizarding wars, no doubt helping kill muggles, he was no innocent like his late wife.

Just as she hoped to get back to sleep, since she couldn't get up on her on, Dolohov turned again in his sleep.

This time his arm fell over body and blindly in his sleep his hand grasped over her waist, holding her close to him.

"Olivianna," he whispered and then fell back to snoring.

She closed her eyes tightly. "Hold it together, Granger. Do not fall for this man. Do not. Do not not not. He's the bad guy. Remember that. He's the bad guy," she told herself.

~O~

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a/n: Please review if you want faster updates! I love to get feedback and it helps me grow as a writer even concrit is good

stay safe


	18. Chapter 18

a/n: Thanks so much for reading and to those who took the time to review. By the way, I highly recommend y'all check out a documentary on youtube or elsewhere about what happened in Russian history, like starvation, genocide and attacking farmers, right before communism took over. The Bolsheviks were pure evil and did not actually care about the common people or peasants. They caused millions to die, killed or starved, everything taken away from them. In current day china and russia people arent even allowed to follow any religion, none, even though it hurts no one, they don't even have that choice. Very evil. What's happening in the world right now is really scary and shares some parallels. If you value your freedom and not being starved on purpose, I'd try to learn from the past, so it does not happen again and not in the West or anywhere else. The west has many problems and is hugely corrupt, i know i'm a westerner, but we still _had_ some minimum freedoms until recently...but how much longer will that last? There are people more evil than Voldemort running this planet unfortunately :(

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~O~

By the late morning, or whatever time it currently was in central Russian time, Hermione awoke again, this time with Dolohov awake and staring at her. His dark hair fell over his eyes and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk as he lay next to her. His pillow was tucked under one of his bulging arms, as he held his head up. He looked...he looked absolutely ravishing, she had to admit to herself and that made waking up to this Death Eater even more awkward.

"V'you slept in," Antonin Dolohov said.

Hermione winced. She hated that Antonin was looking right at her, almost eager. Had he been watching her while she slept? She hoped not. Though she hardly looked or felt any better now that she was awake. She was hardly a spring daisy in the morning, her hair was probably a mess and her face puffy.

She grimaced in the strong light of morning. "I woke up before you," she told him a bit crossly. "But you were asleep and I'm chained, so I had no choice but to fall asleep again."

"Oh vis that so ptitsa? Then v'why didn't v'you awake me? Do v'you need to go v'washroom?"

"No, it's not that. Nevermind," she gulped in embarrassment. She could hardly tell Antonin that he had been having a wet dream of some sort, either about her or Oliviana, and she hadn't wished to awaken him...or rouse him from that kind of dream when she lay right next to him. Especially not when that thing had been poking dangerously against the fabric of his pants. Her heart still hammered wildy when she thought of how...well how vulnerable and full of need Antonin had appeared in his sleep. Or they way his lips formed an O as he moaned.

A tingle ran up her spine and she shivered involuntarily.

"V'is something wrong?" Antonin asked with a frown. "V'hou are cold."

"Uhm, no. Not really."

She discreetly lowered her eyes and was relieved to see Dolohov was no longer sporting an excited wand at this time. She breathed out in relief. So maybe this day might not be wholly bad, at least not so far. Antonin must be a morning person, unlike her, because he was being unusually civil. While she distrusted his good manners, she knew better than to take them for granted...while he offered them. She knew Antonin well enough to know his sunny disposition now might easily change to something darker with a flick of his eyes.

"Uhm actually I do need to go the washroom, please," she said, wanting to get out of the bed as soon as possible before his mood changed. Or he got other ideas. This was the second day of her capture, after all, and a certain something had yet to happen. And she intended to keep it that way, til she escaped permanently.

To her relief, Antonin agreed to free her from the bed without question. Or any implication of something dark or untoward happening.

"Okay, I v'will untie v'you. Excuse me." Antonin scratched at his beard, as he got up from the bed and padded barefoot to the living room.

Unconsciously Hermione realized she was watching the shirtless man's broad back and she flushed in embarrassment. She hoped Antonin did not notice.

Though it was extremely hard to not notice, good Merlin, how sculpted his front abs were as he walked back towards her, with the wand in his hand.

Muttering something incomprehensible in Russian, Antonin flicked his wand over her arms and the chains disappeared with a pop to release her.

A deep breath escaped her lips at the feeling of freedom. Thank Merlin. She would freak out if he decided to be cruel today and leave her chained to a bed all day, or worse yet, naked and chained to his bed.

She rubbed at her wrists as she quickly hopped out of the bed. However, she winced as her bare feet touched the chilly wood floor and she couldn't help jumping. The cabin was absolutely freezing in the morning.

"Don't v'worry," Antonin chuckled, throwing a sweater over his sculpted abs and arms. "It v'will be warm again, ptitsa. I v'will get the fire going."

"Thank you. Where is the washroom?"

"Down that hall." Antonin pointed to the only hallway in the cabin with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione blushed.

Oh right, duh. Get yourself together, Hermione, it's not a maze in here. There's only two or three rooms.

Hermione walked in embarrassment away from Dolohov and found the washroom easily enough. The last door at the end of the hallway. The washroom, she discovered, was a dark blue tiled room with a porcelain sink, toilet and an enormous claw-foot bathtub that looked like it could fit two people comfortably.

She sighed and sat down as she peed. _When am I ever going to get out of here?_

She wondered how panicked Harry and Ron might be right now. If only she could write them a letter and tell them that she was okay, or at least, as okay as being married to a crazy Russian Death Eater constituted 'okay'.

Running the tap, she splashed some water on her face and looked for a toothbrush. Luckily, the cupboard was filled with new toothbrushes and other toiletries still in their packages. She saw some lip balm and put it on her dry lips.

As she stared in the mirror, she realized her hair was still a mess. If only she had her wand, she could save herself a good ten minutes of struggling with a comb to tame the beast, and use a magic spell to immediately untangle and comb her brown locks.

"Ptitsa, vis everything okay?" Antonin called from the other side of the door.

"Yes." _I wish I had a wand but yes._

"Okay, I v'will make breakfast. Just this once," he added. "V'hou will make breakfast after this." He had said the same thing after last night's dinner. Hermione gathered the feeling he was speaking more harshly than he meant. If he ever tried her cooking, he might change his mind about forcing her to cook for him.

"Okay," she said back and waited til he left before she grabbed the only comb and started to tame her hair with it. Not that she cared what she looked like. It just didn't sit well with her perfectionist personality to be disheveled and ungroomed.

Satisfied she no longer looked like a wildebeest, Hermione wandered back down the hall, grabbed one of his pair of slippers and went to the kitchen.

She stopped in her tracks when she stumbled upon the idyllic, almost romantic, scene before her eyes: a rolling fire going, Dolohov humming a Russian hymn to himself as he cooked wearing only a tight v-neck sweater that showed some of his chest. She shivered as she thought of seeing the full breadth of his chest and the trail of dark here that led to his waist.

"V'is something wrong?" he asked for the second time that day.

"No, nothing." Hermione shook her head and then laughed. "Besides the obvious, of course, that I'm here."

"Still not over dat?" Antonin arched a dark brow at her.

"It's been one day," she reminded him. "I'd like to see how happy you would be if you'd been abducted by the Order of the Phoenix and chained to a bed!"

"Ah, nevermind. Vat would be noching v'anyways, I've seen v'worse in Azkaban!" Antonin smirked and flipped the frying pan effortlessly. Hermione blinked in shock to see how adept he was in the kitchen. Where had he learned that, she wondered.

"Right," she gulped as she watched him. It was interesting to see a grown wizard who actually cooked...and made it look sexy. Unlike Ron, Harry and other boys her age who were completely helpless in the kitchen, besides engorging themselves on house-elf's cooking or their mother's cooking.

"What are you cooking?" Hermione asked, watching his brisk movements as Antonin flipped the pan.

"Blini and kotleti."

"Oh lovely."

Antonin caught onto her confusion. "V'you haven't a clue what a blini is do you? Or kotleti?"

"No," Hermione admitted reluctantly that for once she did not know the answer. Then her face sobered as she remembered last night in alarm. "It's not rabbit again is it?"

Antonin bowed and dramatically placed a hand over his heart. "I promise my love to never again serve my v'little ptitsa rabbit again! V'you have my v'word!"

"Okay, well thank you," Hermione replied with a pleasantly cool smile. She did not completely forgive him for that.

He walked over with the pan and scooped out a serving onto a plate for her. "V'it's only flour, chicken, onion and _smetana_."

After they had eaten breakfast and exchanged small talk, both getting along surprisingly well, Antonin mentioned he had to leave her. So that's why he was being so pleasant this morning, Hermione thought, he didn't want to start a fight with me or have me try to escape right before he left. He doesn't have the time to mess about.

Antonin pushed his empty plate away from him on the table.

"I'm afraid I cannot stay with v'you all the time, I have to go back to Britain to deal with big guy."

"Voldemort?" Her heart rate increased as she stared at him.

Antonin nodded at her solemnly.

"What are you going to tell him?" Hermione asked in alarm. She couldn't help feeling a bit worried for Dolohov. Even if it didn't make sense to be worried about a seasoned Death Eater veteran like him.

"Don't v'worry about it."

"I can't help being a bit worried," Hermione said, then realizing how she sounded, like she was worried for him, she quickly added. "I mean if something were to happen to you, I would assumingly, be stuck locked here, starving to death, without a wand...unless you left the cabin unlocked?"

Antonin shook his head. "Not a chance. I have to v'lock the door after I go."

Hermione pressed her lips together and she sought out sympathy from his eyes. "And what if something were to happen to you, you would leave me to die here in a locked frozen cabin as I ran out of fuel and food?"

Antonin stood up the table and went to put on his coat, completely ignoring her question. "V'you clean up," he said, pointing to the empty plates and pan.

"Well? What about my question?" Hermione followed him as she saw him putting on his boots and getting out his wand from his pocket.

"I said don't vorry about it, ptitsa. V'You will be safe."

"How do you know?"

"I am Mattheiu from the story. You are the Matimutka."

She did not find that very reassuring. "Who is the king that must die then?"

Antonin strode up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders to give her a wet kiss before she could protest. For a second she melted into his kiss as he licked at her with his tongue and then deepened the kiss. Secretly she needed this kiss to assure her Antonin would not leave her for the world and he would indeed be back for her, no matter what. But then she bit at his lip and she shoved him off.

He laughed as if encouraged by her violent response to his kiss and wiped at his lips. "My fiesty rabbit! Use clever head of v'yours to figure out who king is!"

"I dont know!" Hermione shouted after him as he headed out the door. She really felt panicked at how evasive he was being. "Is it Voldemort? The Order? My family? Harry?"

Antonin chuckled and didn't answer her as he disappeared out the door. Slamming the door behind him.

She ran to put her ear by the door as she heard him on the other side putting wards on the whole house to make it impenetrable from both inside and outside.

"Antonin come back! Don't leave me here. Please!" she called in panic. If Voldemort killed him, she really would starve to death here.

Antonin, however, didn't turn around or hear her, then she saw him apparate right outside, leaving only his footprints in the snow.

"Great, it's one big prison in here!" Hermione kicked at the barricaded door and wandered boredly back to the kitchen.

She stared at the few dirty plates and pans. Did he really expect her to clean up everything like a housewife.

She was about to disregard his orders, when she realized he had served her by making breakfast.

"Fine, Toni, just this once, I'll do this, but don't used to this. I'm no housewife, I will not be trapped here forever!" she said to the empty house.

To prove her point, she grabbed the heaviest cast iron pot she could find and smashed it against the windows, trying to break the glass.

Not even a dent or a hint of a crack appeared in the barricaded, magically protected glass. The whole cabin was like a fortress.

Tears stung at her eyes as she stared blindly at the great outdoors, the white landscape of snow, so tauntingly on the other side of the glass.

~o~

a/n: Where could Antonin be going? Will Voldemort allow him to keep his muggleborn?


	19. Chapter 19

This extra update is for one reader who had their birthday yesterday! Cheers and happy birthday (belated) :D :) Thanks for reviewing and reading.

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Many hours passed by, excruciatingly slow, in the cabin while Dolohov was gone back to Britain.

She wondered what Antonin would tell Voldemort? Couldn't Voldemort read minds? Wouldn't the Dark Lord, as he was so reverently called, want to speak to her or get information out of her since she was so closed to Harry? How could Antonin get away with keeping her as some kind of pet? Or had he told Voldemort that he was torturing her...which wasn't even remotely true. Even if Antonin Dolohov was a capital arse and an entitled misogynist who thought he could just marry anyone without their consent, he hadn't really hurt her.

She bit her lip. The thought really frightened her that Antonin might never come back, if Voldemort killed him. Or even someone in the Order killed him. It was not above the Order to occasionally kill Death Eaters.

She tried not to dwell on the possibility of something bad happening to Antonin. Not because she cared about him. She didn't. But if he didn't come back and no one was told where she was, she would most definitely starve to death in this cabin. A slow and agonizing death.

Hermione searched the cabin for something to do yet there wasn't much to amuse or distract herself with. The cabin wasn't very large and she had already covertly searched most of the house whenever Antonin had turned his back. There was just the washroom, the hall closet, the main kitchen-living room area and a small study. The study room was probably the most interesting room, with its green wallpaper, shelves and wood desk. Many books too, which surprised her, since she hadn't expected Antonin, the great oaf, to read anything at all. He seemed more of the jock type.

All his books were in Russian except one dual English-Russian translation of Anna Karenina. She picked up the well-worn cover and read Karenina for awhile though Tolstoy wasn't her favourite type of author. She generally preferred nonfiction to fiction and all of Tolstoy's books were notoriously long and serious. Though the ever persistent Vronsky, who kept pestering married Anna, reminded her vaguely of Antonin. Were all Russian men so persistent when unwanted by the object of their affection? Poor Russian women must have to deal with a handful, Hermione thought.

In his closet, she searched for other sources of amusement or a weapon of some sort. The only sharp object she found however were the knives in the kitchen. She took one of the sharper steak knives and hid it between the mattress of the bed in case she could use it later.

After a few hours of reading and wandering through the cabin, she was so bored, she took to staring out the front window, waiting for Dolohov to reappear. Why did she feel like a bored dog locked by its master while he was at work?

_I'm going to go mad like this_, Hermione thought and pulled at her hair._ I have literally nothing to do here except worry about everyone else. _

What was Harry doing? Were Harry and Ron trying to get the Order to get her back? What if Antonin or Voldemort hurt them while she was gone? She hoped Harry didn't take any risks trying to save her. Dammit.

She tried to imagine who the king that needed to be slain was in Dolohov's version of the Matimutka's story. "He can't mean Voldemort can he?" She wished he was a turncoat or spy like the late Severus Snape had been, but if Dolohov was a spy, they'd have known by now. _He's just the bad guy, Hermione, quit kidding yourself._

It was nearing 4 o clock on the Russian clock by the fireplace when Hermione went to the washroom to take a bath out of pure boredom. It had been several days she she had been able to do anything but a scourgify while she had been on the run with Harry and Ron. And maybe it was her muggle background, but she still preferred to wash her hair and face the muggle way using actual water and nice-scented soaps.

Luckily, there were bottles of shampoo and soap and even running hot water.

So there is a small piece of civilization here, Hermione thought in relief as she threw off the ugly nightgown and slipped naked into the water.

She sat for awhile soaking in the sudsy, hot water when she heard noise from the front door. Somebody had swung the front door open. Antonin undoubtedly. Though she couldn't be so sure.

She panicked for a moment, not wanting him to find her in the bathtub. He had never seen her naked yet and she intended to keep it that way, his lust for her could not stand more encouragement. Things were tense enough as is between them.

"Bloody great!" Hermione swore, trying to wash the shampoo hurriedly out of her hair so she could get out of the bathtub, fully dressed, before Antonin came in.

"'Ermione!" he called from down the hall, "V'Where are v'you?"

"Shit." Hermione dunked her head quickly under the water to rinse the last of the shampoo out of her hair but unfortunately some of the shampoo suds had gotten into her eyes a moment before and had stung her eyes blind her for a bit. She tried to open her eyes underwater so get the sting of the shampoo out of her eyes. "Aghh! Bugger it, he just had to walk in now."

"Ermione! Vhat is wrong?!" Antonin called from the other side, hearing her cry of distress, before he barged into the washroom.

Hermione yelped as her worst fears were confirmed. Dolohov walked into the washroom just as she re-emerged from the water.

She stared blankly at him, her vision still semi blinded by the shampoo, at him as she sat up in the water.

Dolohov was not speaking. What had gotten into him?

Why were his eyes staring down at her like that? Like she'd grown three heads.

She yelped again as she realized the bubbles in the water no longer covered her breasts and he was staring at her naked upper body with an almost thirsty look of lust on his handsome features. Unconsciously a thrill fluttered in her stomach again. Yet she managed to put her head together and use her hands to cover herself.

"Can you leave?!" she snapped. "Am I not allowed any privacy here?!"

"V'You are beautiful," Antonin said lustily. "Magnificent."

"Err okay. Uhm ya, can you go now?" Hermione stammered, still holding her breasts to hide them from him.

"Can I join?" Antonin asked sheepishly and tugged at his collar.. "I am of in need of bath too!"

"NO YOU ARE NOT. YOU ARE PERFECTLY CLEAN," Hermione insisted in panic. Though he did look sweaty in a sexy way like he'd been running and fighting all day whilst gone. "Just go!" she shouted. She didn't care anymore that Voldemort hadn't killed him, or anything. What made him think he could just intrude on her like this? The bastard.

"No!" Antonin said and leered at her more.

Should she just jump out of the water and wrap herself with a towel, before he got an idea to jump in? But then he'd see naked for a moment as she stepped out of the water. Oh bloody hell.

As she saw Antonin start to take off his socks and then throw his sweater off, so his chest was naked again, Hermione dunked one last time under the water to rinse herself completely before she practically jumped out of the water and ran to get the towel.

Antonin followed her with his eyes like a wolf as she ran naked in front of him before she was shielded from his eyes again, wrapped in the fluffy towel.

She pointed at the door. "Please leave!"

But Antonin had other ideas. His hands came to rest on his belt buckle as he stood shirtless before her. "Make me, v'wife."

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~O~

a/n: Uh oh. Antonin is sorely lacking in manners isn't it? Not very respectful of her boundaries.

Please review I will update again tomorrow if we can get past 75 reviews. I really want to finish this story, before the internet goes down or anything else bad happens.

cheers


	20. Chapter 20

~o~

Hermione knew she was being confronted by a very dangerous man, even if she didn't have weapons to defend herself.

She wrapped the towel tighter around herself, though her hand felt shaky.

"I will not _stoop_ to indignify myself by fighting with you, Dolohov," she called him by his last name to put some emotional distance between them. "Especially when the playing field is so uneven, I have no wand!"

Antonin showed her his empty hands. "I have no v'wand either." He grinned down at her. "Let's play a game of cat and mouse."

"What is that?" Hermione spat. She hated the way his eyes were burning through her. It made her feel so weak and vulnerable...and bloody naked, literally, really under the towel. "Some Russian version of tag?!"

"Da, maybe." He licked at his lips. "I v'will count to 10 and v'you will hide in the house, then I will come to find v'you."

"This is totally unfair!" Hermione pointed to her towel clad body. "You have to give me time first to change into my clothes." She grabbed her nightgown from a bar on the wall. She was not fond of the frilly ridiculous pink garment but it was better than nothing, and she certainly did not want to relinquish it anytime soon.

"Uh uh," Dolohov growled and yanked his grandmother's frilly dowdy nightgown out of her hands. He threw the nightgown at the floor. "This makes v'it more fun v'when I find v'you."

"THAT IS TOTALLY UNFAIR!" Hermione hissed, her cheeks flooding with blood. He'd probably yank the towel off her when he found her.

"Da. Now hide. 10, 9," he began the countdown without giving her further warning.

She wanted to yell and curse him and call him at least ten different names but she did not waste a further second. She knew full well what Antonin was like when he started counting or telling her to run. His mood could change from nice to mean in a matter of seconds.

Hermione ran out of the bathroom, still clutching the towel. She tried to think in panic where she could best hide best would give her the highest survival chance of not being jumped by this dark wizard. In panic she searched for a closet to hide in. Her thinking was that maybe between the countdown and Dolohov finding her, she might have time to change into some of the clothes hanging in the closet.

With that plan in mind, she dodged into the spare closet in the hallway and closed the door after her.

Blindly, in the dark, she tried to quietly feel around for an article of clothing to wear that would cover her satisfactorily.

She removed the mystery clothing, which felt like a long cotton shirt in the dark, from the hanger and lowered her towel. She threw the shirt over her head  
and was blindly trying to do up the buttons when Dolohov shouted 'Aha!' and whipped open the closet door.

She shrieked and fell over, stumbling onto the floor, as she tripped over the shirt, or rather dressrobe's long edges.

"Are you v'wearing my old uncle's dress robes?" Antonin said and frowned. "Tisk tisk v'you should not take clothing that is not yours." He lifted her off the ground and over his shoulder again, patting her bum as she hung helpless in the air.

"What choice did I have?" Hermione screeched and hit at his back. "Now let me go! Put me down!" She was more than aware that she wore no underwear under the cotton shirt and with her legs in the air, Dolohov probably had a more than ample look up her legs.

"No I have found v'you fair and square, v'you are my prize!" Her eyes grew as big as saucers as he slapped her bare bottom with his rough palm. Then she saw what direction he was walking them towards: the bedroom, and even greater panic set in.

"Why are you taking us there?" She gulped down a lump in her throat. "It's not night time yet. I don't need to sleep!"

"Ha ha, I do not intend v'you sleep either, my ptitsa," his hand ran upwards to feel her bare thigh and she held back a groan. "V'you sleep too much and do not do enough for v'your master!"

"You are not my master!" Hermione shrieked as Dolohov yet again dropped her onto the bed. This time her body was not sore, however, and she bounced comfortably onto the soft mattress. Though she was still annoyed that he continued to insist throwing her on the bed like she was some kind of ragdoll.

Dolohov hopped onto the large mattress after her and crawled on top of her, pinning her beneath him with his arms. Her eyes were wide with fear, and something else, as she looked up at him, their faces only inches apart.

"You may find vhat is not true, any v'longer, I have sorted things out with v'your family today."

"What?" Hermione felt her temper boil up in rage at his blatant lying. "That is impossible! There is no way you could find my family, I have hidden my parents completely, you can't ever have spoken or hurt them in a million years, you liar!"

Antonin growled dangerously while staring down at her, his dark eyes warning her to not push his temper. "Do not call v'your husband 'liar'. I tell only da truth, babushka. I've meant v'your family Weasleys and Potter."

"Oh? You spoke to them, how?"

"They found me! V'your friends care for v'you very much, they're causing all kinds of trouble, trying to find v'you."

"They found you? Then why are you here, how did they not capture you?"

"V'You underestimate v'your husband." Antonin tutted and he lowered his body down to meet hers as he kept his upper body's weight in his arms right over her.

Hermione's heart beat against her chest. "You didn't hurt Harry or Ron?"

"I did not get da chance but told them v'you are safe with me and v'we are in v'union together."

"Oh, I'm sure that went down well with Ron," Hermione almost laughed. Ron would be seething in jealousy and frustration even though they had broken up more than a year ago.

"V'why was he your boyfriend this Vron?"

"Nevermind," Hermione said quickly.

"No, I v'want to know." there was a steely determined look in his eye. He probably would not let this subject go until she told him.

"We dated. For a little while. It did not lead anywhere."

Antonin shifted his weight so that he could use his left arm to lower his hand to her stomach. "Vron did not...?" he asked with raised brows, something glimmering in his eyes.

"No. I told you no one." Hermione shifted uncomfortably under him. "Not that it's any business of yours."

"Good. If he had, I might have needed to kill Vron."

Hermione's eyes widened. But a second later, Antonin broke into peals of laughter.

"I am v'only kidding, ptitsa! Oh you should see your face! No, your Vron is fine!"

"Jerk," she muttered and pushed back at his broad chest.

"Vhou like me."

She turned her head away from him and tried to concentrate on staring to the side of the bed, at the floor, at the wall, at the clock. Anywhere but up into his glorious eyes.

"Hey, I'm v'here!" Antonin said and then did something that startled her. He lowered his whole body to rest on top of hers, without putting his whole weight on her. There was nothing separating their bodies except their clothes.

"Don't crush me again, please," she said and squirmed beneath him. "I'm serious, that hurt when you landed on top of me that one time."

"Hush, I am not a cruel man." He lowered his lips to make out with her. At first, when his lips met hers, she resisted but soon she found her own mouth opening and responding to his touch, without even realizing. Oh bugger it. Yet she continued. Not that there was anywhere else to go with Antonin literally squishing her into the mattress.

Helplessly, she couldn't stop herself from panting against him as things got heated and her own hands flew into his hair to grab wildly at his long locks.

"Oh yes, show me ptitsa how v'you care," Antonin groaned as he ground his hips against her and continued to pelt her with kisses down her throat and neck and back up to her lips. The bulge tented his pants as he ground against her...and she could feel it.

"Oh god, oh god, what am I doing," Hermione panted. Yet she couldn't stop. She was addicted to his lips once more. Addicted to his touch. "Toni," she moaned and found her own hips grinding against him.

~O~  
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a/n: OK if you think Hermione is just going to give into him now, you've got the wrong girl. More fighting and arguing is definitely going to happen and its a bit shocking what will happen next, I promise.

HUGE THANK YOU TO EVERYONE THAT REVIEWED! :D :D Another update tomorrow if we can get past 80 reviews! I really hope we can get past 100 reviews by the time this story is finished. Also I think it's just about 10 chapters more til the end. Then I need to write a sequel novel if there's interest because obviously Hermione can't just stay with Antonin whether they are married or not, or he keeps her or not.


	21. Chapter 21

a/n: I'm sorry this is a day late, very sorry, I had somethings come up. Thank you to everyone who reviewed/followed/faved! You are too kind and thank you so much for reading

* * *

~o~

"Toni," Hermione moaned in between kisses from his magnificent lips. She felt so dizzy and high from his touch, like he immediately brought her into another state of mind. A dangerous state of mind where she quickly could get carried away if only listening to her body's senses instead of her head. Antonin ground his hips against her and a tingle went violently down her spine and to her core, though he was locked tightly in his pants. While she wore only a long shirt with nothing beneath. He slid a hand up her leg and pushed the fabric of the shirt up so he could behold her.

"Oh yes, my darling, v'you are precious."

Hermione blushed, realizing, Antonin had used this moment to look upon her naked womanhood.

She shuddered. He'd seen everything now. Her naked chest earlier when he'd walked in on her bath. And now he'd seen her bare lower half.

Antonin breathed in huskily and then whispered something else in Russian but his intrusive action had been like a splash of cold water, bringing her back to her senses.

How could she have let this happen? How could she be so brazen. To jump in bed with a Death Eater, well technically, she was thrown into bed by him, but still she should have fought him more. She should still keep fighting him now, instead of wasting time kissing him and getting further attached to this villain. This stupid, confounding, tragic yet villainous man. A man of so many contradictions, kindness and cruelty, that she never knew whether she was coming or going with him, wanting to attack him or wanting to make out with him.

She tried to slide out from under him to stop everything before she got anymore carried away. "Please, Toni, don't," she panted. "I shouldn't."

"Shush, v'you are my v'wife now. I v'will be gentle."

"No please I am serious. I am not ready to be married, and especially not to you. Good Merlin." She pushed back, this time violently, at his chest, and finally he sat up and let her slip out from under him. He turned in agitation to stare at her.

She stood up and fixed her shirt over herself before smoothing her messy hair back out of her hair. "You have to let me go. I would not be happy here. This is not who I am."

"V'you don't know v'wat you v'want," Antonin said undeterred. "I can make v'you happy."

"You don't know the slightest thing about me, Antonin," she said with more than a hint of bitterness. She was wasting so much time here when she should've been with Harry and Ron helping them find the horcruxes, something Antonin apparently didn't know anything about. Since he seemed to think she was fine with being locked here or that she had nothing better to do than cook and clean for him, or Merlin knows what else, he had in mind to make her do for him on the regular.

"I know v'more than v'you think."

"Really? Like what?" Hermione began to argue with him on why he wouldn't be a good husband for her. Though the argument was moot and pointless from the start, for the obvious reason that they had nothing in common, were on opposite sides of the war and he'd abducted her, not even giving her the chance to consider him by choice. Bloody hell, she was starting to think Antonin's powers of reason may have been dulled by his time in Azkaban. Couldn't he see this wouldn't work? Why did he even risk everything to keep her?

"I know v'you like to read."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Everyone knew that about her. It was common knowledge.

"I know v'you like to argue and v'are resilient, and even brave, my ptitsa. You are Gryffindor house at Hogwarts, like a lioness. Strong."

Hermione shrugged. Again, these characteristics were sort of self-evident to anyone who knew her name or knew she regularly fought by Harry Potter's side and was one of the brave and bold of Gryffindor. Who else didn't know these things about her?

Antonin continued none the less, convinced that he could convince her. "I know v'you are a v'woman of a great mind."

Hermione shrugged. So word had got out she was intelligent. Not a surprise there either.

Antonin stepped closer to her. "More than that, I know v'you are a woman v'what hides and suppresses her need to be touched."

Her eyes widened but Antonin continued, stepping even close to her.

"...A woman, not a girl, who blossomed into a most beautiful v'woman. A woman vhat needs to be loved and held and have a husband in whom to trust."

Hermione took a sharp intake of breath. Had he really managed to say something so romantic out of all this mess? Good Merlin why did he have to confuse her like this!

"I don't know, Dolohov, I really don't know," she stammered. "I'm so confused right now, you're a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake! We're supposed to be killing each other, or something else bad should be happening. You shouldn't be trying to say cutesy love things or making out with me!"

"Love overcomes v'all boundaries," Antonin said. "Don't v'you know that?"

"How can you say love? I don't even know you!" And yet she knew that wasn't completely true anymore, even as she said those words. Yet she wished it weren't true. She didn't agree to any of this or to get to know Antonin or to even start to tolerate him.

Antonin shook his head. "Yes v'you do. V'You know about my life, my Oliviana and why I chose v'what I chose in da war. You have get to know me, 'Ermione, as I get to know and care about v'you."

"Love though Antonin? Really?" How could he speak of love so prematurely. She was sure that even Antonin couldn't pretend he loved her yet, it barely had been a day into their so called marriage or wedding.

"Maybe not yet. Lust just now, ptitsa. But can v'you honestly say v'you are not starting to love me 'Ermione?" Antonin said and grabbed her hand, rubbing it between his own hands.

_Oh god._

~o~

a/n: Thank you so much for reading! Just to be clear, Antonin didn't say he loved her or that she loved him. He says only lust exists between them at this point but he's asking her 'isn't that changing?" Obviously antonin is mature enough to know it isn't love yet, just mutual attraction. but is he mature enough to see it will never work? or can he convince her it could work despite all odds?

cheers and thanks


	22. Chapter 22

~o~

Antonin had boldly stated that she was starting to fall in love with him. Just flat out accused her of loving him. The arrogance. The cheek of him. How dare he suggest it...and with so much confidence.

Or fuck it, did he have a point maybe?

To her shock, when Hermione searched her own mind and heart, she found he was not...completely...mistaken. Though how the hell did this happen in just a few days? Surely you couldn't fall in love that fast? Falling for Ron or Sirius had certainly been slow burns that had taken years to build up. She hadn't woken up one day and realized she was in love with those Gryffindors. It didn't happen overnight.

She may not be quite in love at this point, but she was most definitely starting to fall in love with him. With her kidnapper!

No wonder she couldn't stop kissing him and lost her mind every time he touched her so that she lost self-control around him.

How could she have developed something so fast for this impossible man? He drove her crazy!

_"Though who am I kidding?"_ Hermione bit down hard on her lip as she stared into Antonin's dark unreadable eyes. Some of his black ebony hair had fallen across his temple. A part of her wanted to reach out and smooth it back out of his face. And maybe heal the wounds and battle scars he had across his chest...oh god his chest.

_"Oh god, what have I done? He's right," _Hermione thought to herself. _"I am starting to fall for him.__Or hopefully it's just lust. Please let it just be lust. I don't want to love this madman."__"_

Reading her troubled facial expressions, Antonin reached out a hand to run up her spine, leaving tingles where his large fingers traced against her backbone. She felt so weak. So vulnerable. So stupid. How could she let this happen?

"Ermione vis is true, vis not?" Antonin whispered, breaking the heavy silence between them.

She didn't respond but sat down on the bed again, staring out the window where the sun was now setting.

What a bloody mess. There was no turning back was there. Even if she got away, there would be a piece of her that stayed here with Antonin forever and in the back of her mind she would always wonder about 'what if she had stayed, what if she had married him'.

Bugger it. How could she have developed feelings for her own abductor? This was major Stockholm syndrome surely and nothing more.

"I need to be alone," Hermione said quietly, breaking the long pause in their conversation.

Antonin nodded as he looked down at her cheekily, as if he had accomplished something with the past half hour.

"Sure, I v'will bring v'you some tea and v'you will rest." He bit at his lips. "Then v'you will cook supper."

"I am not cooking supper for you, Antonin," she said glumly.

"V'you are my wife, you cook," he insisted. "I am not wife here, I v'will not cook again."

Hermione shuddered to think of how he might've treated Oliviana, ordering her to cook and clean everything. Was that really genuine love? To have things so traditionally? Did Antonin even cherish that poor woman as much as he claimed to? Maybe he just acted like he cared so much about her after she died and he couldn't order her around anymore.

"I'd rather not," she said tightly and tried not to sneer.

"Oh v'when we will both go hungry? I v'work all day and come back to empty kitchen?"

That was it. Hermione stood up, shoulders back and starred daggers at him, not caring how much she sneered at him any longer.

He couldn't speak to her like this, so damn dismissively, as if she were nothing or had accomplished nothing in her life. Did he not comprehend who she was? She was practically Harry Potter's right hand 'man' in battle and had saved their lives many, many times. She was completely wasting time here arguing with him, or kissing him.

"Look, here, I could full well work and provide for myself, if you hadn't abducted me! I'm completely bored here. I'm not built for a simple life, I'm not housewife material!" she shouted at him. "I should be out there fighting!"

It was as if she had said something shocking and he couldn't comprehend her.

"V'war is not for women, ptitsa!" Antonin actually raised his voice, so loud she actually jumped out of her skin.

Hermione felt her jaw slacken as she tried to comprehend what to say to a man so set in his ways in another type of wizarding world. She couldn't find the words in time however.

Apparently she had made Antonin so mad, he wasted no time to storm out of the bedroom and slam the door behind him, nearly breaking it.

She couldn't understood him.

Did Antonin really think women should sit at the sidelines or act only as war prizes? What about Bellatrix Lestrange? Surely there were female Death Eaters, weren't there? Or did Voldemort think only those rules applied to pureblood women, while other women were free for sport or cruelty.

Hermione looked helplessly at the closed door. "I'm going to go mad here," she thought.

Her stomach growled too out of deep hunger. She'd not had a bite to eat since breakfast.

Would he really let them both starve if she refused to cook herself?

~o~

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	23. Chapter 23

~o~

If she hadn't eaten in however many hours, she might've told Antonin to take a long walk off a short cliff, or something like that. Though he was already so mad at her, Hermione doubted he would control him temper. Oh dear, she didn't want to make her 'masters' supper for him? Merlin forbid! How dare she disrupt the status quo of her kidnapper!

How badly she wanted to go out there and tell him how angry she was at him too. That she felt suffocated and trapped and oppressed and so so so confused.

Though if she did argue with him further, the brunette felt certain something or other would happen to escalate the situation.

Antonin was always like a pot nearly at the boiling point. Though his smirks sometimes fooled you to think he was level-headed, he certainly was not.

Yet who cared if she did push this Death Eater's buttons to the breaking point? What would he do? What was the worse that could happen?

Maybe in all the madness and confusion, Antonin might actually forget his wand and she could take control over her life back. Then maybe even use his wand on him...hmmm. There were so many spells she had mastered that she could use to on Antonin to show him she was every bit as capable as him in battle.

Hermione smirked to herself at one day possibly getting revenge on Antonin for everything he had put her through...and most especially for making her catch feelings for him. This stupid stupid feeling she had for him, like the sickest butterflies, whenever she met the eyes of her captor.

Love or this horrible feeling of constant lust for him, was truly the worst feeling in the world.

_'It does not bode well to love your enemies, Hermione,' _she reminded herself._ 'This is still a war...Even if I, if I feel...god damn it...'_

_'I have to do something.'_

Hermione stared down at her idle bored hands. A thought occurred to her. What if she convinced Antonin that she could only cook if she had a wand? It was true enough that she was useless in the kitchen save if she had a wand to whip up a delicious meal.

Then she groaned at the idea. _'Who am I kidding? Not likely he's falling for that.'_

She knew Antonin well enough by now to know he would never fall for such a ploy. Antonin was many things, but he wasn't stupid. Just a pig. He'd sooner imperio her to cook than trust her with his wand. Yet he hadn't imperiused her or violated her freewill once...so what gives? Was he really so angry at her over her not cooking? Didn't he realize all the worst things he had done to her?

_'Enough of this nonsense. Maybe I should just confront him.'_

She pushed open the bedroom door and marched to the kitchen. Antonin was not there. Instead, he was glumly seated in his yak horn chair, staring at the flames in the fireplace. A glass and a bottle of liquor cradled in his hands.

So damn childish.

Hermione couldn't believe this man was older than her. He certainly did not act more mature.

She felt an unnecessary amount of anger, and perhaps a tiny bit of concern, wave over her.

If there was one thing she had learned in the past two days, the only thing worst than Antonin Dolohov, was a drunk Antonin Dolohov.

"Oh great, you're just going to drink yourself into a stupor again?" she admonished him.

"V'what else is there to do than drink? There v'is certainly nothing to eat!" He scowled and took another swig from the glass.

"That is enough. I'm not going to allow you to get drunk again." She stood before him and motioned for him to handover the bottle and glass..

Antonin regarded her with bitter eyes. "Vit is not your place, Englishwoman, to tell a man v'when or v'when not to drink!" With that said, he haughtily took another large sip directly from the bottle to annoy her further.

Hermione didn't skip a beat, however, and knocked the bottle out of his hands, sending it crashing to the floor. The liquor quickly seeped into the rug, lost forever. She wasn't about to spend another night terrified with a drunk man.

Antonin raised his hand threateningly in the air. "I varn you, little ptitsa, v'you are getting vay out of line!"

"Good! I hope I'm making you mad, because this is how I am and as you can see, I'd make a very unpleasant wife! In fact, I'd take delight in making your life as miserable as possible, so you had better just let me go and get this whole marriage nonsense thing out of your mind." She stomped her foot on the ground for emphasis, very proud of her little speech and the effect she was having on disturbing Antonin's peace. "I don't cook," she yelled. "I don't clean and I certainly don't submit to any man, so don't expect sex, ever!"

At that precise moment, Antonin snapped and he grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her roughly over to him. "V'you will not win this war, vyou Englishwoman!" He grinned wickedly down at her. "Get on v'your knees, now," he instructed.

"I will not!" Yet she yelped in pain as he forcibly pushed her down onto her knees in front of the yak chair where he sat.

He pointed to his boots. "Polish my shoes, ptitsa!"

"NO!"

Her stomach dropped as she realized she had finally pushed his temper, aided by vodka, too far. No, no, no, no. Panic set in. She attempted to get away from him but his iron grip on her was inescapable. He held her close as he stared at her, seemingly, regarding her with complete disgust.

Antonin grabbed her by the flimsy shirt she wore. "V'You v'will polish my shoes or you polish something else." He lowered his eyes threateningly. "Now start."

Fucking hell.

~o~


	24. Chapter 24

~o~

Antonin grabbed her by the flimsy shirt she wore. "V'You v'will polish my shoes or you polish something else." He lowered his eyes threateningly. "Now start."

"You must be out of your mind," Hermione began but he cut her off mid-sentence.

"Knees, _ptitsa!_" he instructed, his Russian accent thicker than ever. His eyes were so dark she wondered if there was any soul left in them or he had drowned what little was left of his pitiful soul with vodka.

She hated him, she hated him, she hated. How could she ever think she loved this bastard for even a moment.

They stared at each other wordlessly for a few seconds, as if both considering if they were really taking this route. His of cruelty. Hers of compliance.

Hermione firmed her jaw. While Antonin licked at his lips, enjoying his little game.

Did she really want to provoke him again? Last time had been dangerous and now he had put a barely veiled threat of something far worse.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him to show how pissed off she was, but then she lowered her hands to his shoes. She really didn't want this to escalate any further into something even more ghastly. Besides he wasn't asking for something obscene.

Yet as she regarded his boots, she looked back up at him in confusion. "I don't have polish or a cloth. How am I going to...?"

She swallowed the bile in her throat and the hunger of not having eaten for hours.

Antonin grinned and at this point she saw how wicked his smile was. How cruel he could turn in one moment to another when he lost his temper.

"V'use your shirt to polish and spit in your hand for polish," he instructed.

"I can't, this shirt doesn't reach far enough."

"Take it off and use it as a rag."

No, hell no. The bastard!

She tried to stand back up again off her knees and get away from him but his heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder.

"I can't. Please!" She attempted to make her eyes as sad and doe-eyed as possible, hoping to reach some semblance of his humanity to spare her this humiliation.

She met his dark eyes again and wondered what the hell she had got into. Why hadn't she ignored him and stayed in the room. Her eyes felt wide  
and blind sighted like a deer in headlights. Bloody hell, maybe she should have just cooked him something horrible. Anything than being on her knees undignified like this before a Death Eater. And what if he didn't stop at his shoes?

Antonin's eyes were hardened, steely cold, as if he wanted to punish her for screaming at him and discouraging his plans to keep her. As if to remind his captive of the iron cage around her and who really held the power and could do such at his whim. With or without her consent.

"Take it v'off," he repeated.

His tone of voice left no room for argument.

Hermione bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

She knew full well if she didn't comply Antonin might try to do something even more atrocious, especially given the influence of the vodka...and did she want to take that risk? Bloody hell, she had no options for escape here, did she? And dammit, why had she even thought for a second, that she might've cared for him, or he for her? This was clearly some twisted game for him.

"_Fucking bastard_," Hermione swore under her breath.

Antonin lifted her chin with his hand so that she was forced to look into his eyes. Mesmerizing, fucking, evil eyes . "More defiance, ptitsa?" Antonin cooed mockingly.

She narrowed her eyes at him and swallowed down her chagrin. "No, clearly this is a delight for me," she hissed so there was no possibility of him missing her sarcasm.

"Da," Antonin chuckled and let her chin go. She bristled at the loss of contact and hated that her body still responded to his touch like that. Like she needed him. She realized also her cheeks were flushed red with heat.

Antonin raised his brows at her as he examined and read her every facial expression.

Damn him. He was enjoying every second of this, wasn't he? And he didn't even technically have to violate her body to make her feel this way, which was the worst of it. There were stories of Death Eaters doing far far worse things to muggle and muggleborn women. While Antonin merely had to seduce her and then make her polish his shoes to make her feel absolutely bottom of the barrel...

Antonin tapped his foot and she was drawn out of her hateful thoughts.

"V'is there reason for v'your delay, ptitsa, or v'you just like being on your knees for me?" Antonin said and laughed...in a sort of husky way that made her both want to punch him in the face and kiss him. Damn him, it would be so much easier to hate Dolohov if he looked like an orc. "I'm v'waiting," he reminded her, leaning in close so she could still smell the sweet vodka on his lips as he breathed deeply.

Hermione drew in her breath and tried to regain her composure, though she knew her cheeks must've been as red as the beets he adored so much. "I'm waiting to punch you in the face," she whispered.

Antonin laughed and she was reminded of the softer, more likeable side of him...that was now hidden.

She narrowed her eyes.

When she delayed undressing herself for a second longer, his sunny disposition dimmed and the darkness returned to his eyes.

"Da! Get on v'with it." He scratched at the stubble around his beard impatiently now.

Swallowing her nerves, she wasted no time to abate his anger further.

Shakily, she complied and took off the shirt, leaving her completely naked, as she sat on her knees before his feet.

Antonin watched her every move with dilated pupils that traced along her body and despite herself, she could not deny she found his rapt attention somewhat erotic. She was attracted to him alright, but not like this...though the worst thing is her body's response felt like a betrayal.

Her hairs immediately raised on end and her nipples hardened in the cooler air. Despite herself, a chill ran up her spine.

Antonin breathed in sharply and she made the mistake of meeting his smoldering eyes. Her heart immediately skipped a beat.

She'd never felt so simultaneously humiliated and aroused in her life.

He had won this battle. As clearly as if the unspoken words 'checkmate' had passed between them.

Yet Antonin did not seem pleased with his victory. A strange anger seemed to boil under his skin, disturbed perhaps that he would not let himself touch her.

"Get to v'work." His tone so cool it was like a splash of ice water on the raging, feverish heat of her skin.

Humiliated, she spat onto the shirt and used it as a rag to polish his boots, which were already shiny and impeccable. This had nothing to do with his shoes, and everything to do with a power play.

Her blood boiled, with rage and something more...as his dark eyes took in every secret of her body he had no right to know or see. Now he knew every curve, every freckle, every detail of her body as she knelt before him completely helpless and servile. He could not take his eyes off her despite the indifferent air he attempted to assume around her.

Seconds seemed to pass by like hours, each humiliating moment stretched out impossibly.

Every time she looked up from stroking his shoes, she would meet his eyes and he'd stare down at her as if he could see her soul naked too. That was the worst part. Like he had begun to own a part of her. No one else had seen her this way, so prostrate, so nubile, so fresh and...so _wanting._

Her cheeks burned it felt like the sun had scorched her with cruel licks all over her body. Surely she was sunburnt. Of all places in Russia, in this cold cold place where the sun usually hid.

Antonin's eyes scorched her body and she realized with a last loss of dignity, that at any moment, the wetness between her thighs might begin to show and then Antonin will truly have won. Her dignity forever lost.

Luckily, at that moment, Antonin decided to end the cruel task.

He made a clicking noise in his throat, the type of noise a master would make to his dog after a trick.

"Very good," he said and put his hand over her hand to make her stop.

Hermione didn't know why but she felt she could've continued on scrubbing at his shoes furiously, if only to stop herself from crying...or just, she didn't even know, what had overcome her...she felt lost.

Antonin patted her head and she finally dared look up at him.

"See?" He smiled cruelly as if this had all been a game. "V'you can be a good v'wife."

His eyes were softer, less dark now when he spoke.

So the old, nicer Antonin was back, was he? The man she had thought she felt something for.

Well she had enough. She didn't care if he was back or not. She was out. She was done.

"I can't believe you, I can't believe I bothered to kiss a scumbag like you!" She stood up finally and threw the cloth at him. "I must've been out of my mind."

"No, v'you are succumbing to the inevitable. This v'was just v'your punishment for getting out of line." He smirked at her and spread his legs out from where he still sat comfortably on the chair. "V'why don't you come sit down on my lap now and we get along hmm?"

"You're absolutely vile!" She ran from the room, not even ashamed anymore she was naked. Dolohov had won and seen everything. Perhaps it was in his plans all along to get her to this stage, slowly forgetting her identity as he refurbished her a new one. Then her own mind had made the mistake of deciding to fucking fall in love, or fall deeply in lust, with her captor.

She went back to the closet she had found the shirt in and sat down in the closet and bawled her eyes out.

The worst part was how confused she felt. How topsy-turvy their relationship was. If it could even be called a relationship and not just an abduction. One moment they were speaking of love and she was actually kissing him willingly and wondering if a future of some sort was possible despite him being a Death Eater and asshole. The next moment she was insulting him, telling him she'd never be with him, and then he retaliated by humiliating her once again in some stupid misogynist way. Only this time he had truly won, because she hadn't hated it. She hated how _she_ felt.

_I can't do this,_ she thought. But no that wasn't the whole truth. She loathed his guts, lusted over his lips and that heavenly trail of hairs down his abs, wanted to strangle him in his sleep or throw a frying pan over his head so she could get away and, yes, even part of her was starting to love him for unfathomably deranged reasons. But she had to escape, she had to, before any of this got any deeper. She felt split in two. Torn between her lust for him and her heart that wanted to fight in the war, find Harry and get the hell out of here...and never be reminded of Russian again.

She buried her head in shame onto her knees. How could she have let this happen!

~o~


	25. Chapter 25

a/n: To be clear, she IS furious at him. But her hunger makes her not throw something at his head and instead talk to him...after all she is stuck there. for the time being.

~o~

Hermione stayed in the closet about half an hour, it seemed bawling her eyes out, until she finally was done crying and being upset. Then she stood up, wiped her eyes and grabbed yet another of his relatives old, out of fashion clothes. This time it was a ruffled shirt that sort of halfway looked like a decent enough dress. It covered her legs at least, for which she was grateful.

Then she tiptoed to the bedroom, hoping to find it empty and devoid of that hated man. Which it was.

Presumably, Dolohov had gone back to chopping wood outside or maybe eating in town while she starved.

Cooking for him! On her knees for him! The dumb brute had all his ideas of romance wrong. And why on earth should she cook a nice meal for her kidnapper? Or beg your pardon, Husband kidnapper. What an oxymoron!

Furious, she sat down on the bed and grabbed the well-worn copy of Anna Karenina, to calm herself.

But another chapter of the infuriating Vronsky doing everything to drive Anna mad while she still tried to resist and hold onto her values and the affectionate, but not passionate, love she held for her husband...reminded her too much of her own situation here in Russia also and did little to alleviate her nerves.

With each page turning, minutes seemed to stretch out so slowly and hours more seemed to pass with the unbearable humiliation and hunger Hermione felt in her stomach growing worse and worse. Until she finally had to put the book down. She was too hungry to read. And too angry to even think anymore.

Damn him.

Antonin's little game of getting her on her knees, humiliated, just added to the hunger she felt. Like she was just an animal now without dignity. Clawing at herself.

A crazed hunger had set into her. Speaking to her in survival mode, her brain began to betray her and beg her to ask him for food or even cook..yes cook for that twisted bastard...just so she could eat. To alleviate that horrible, horrible emptiness she felt at the bottom of her stomach, churning with the acid, almost making her nauseous...

She wondered if her little stunt of defying him and refusing to cook for him had been worth it.

Would it really have been terrible if she had pretended to submit to him and cook something? Amuse his pretensions of getting her to submit to him. She could pretend surely. Such traitorous thoughts swirled around in her brain.

She grit her teeth together.

No, it was just the hunger talking.

No, it wouldn't be worth the indignity. Of serving him..yet again.

She wouldn't be her stubborn Gryffindor self, if she didn't keep up her resolve, despite this aching...and aching in more ways than one. Damn him. He was going to drive them both mad. Yet no matter how long he kept her like this, she couldn't submit. Anything, hunger, kisses, wanton looks, she couldn't simply give up and hand her dignity to him on a platter. That was not Hermione Granger, that was not who she was.

At most she'd be here two more days of the Russian marriage spell before she could leave for good. Would he really let her starve unless she cooked for him during that time. What if she didn't eat before her release, would she collapse upon her escape and be recaptured? Maybe her stubbornness would not serve her well.

Maybe she should try to negotiate something with him...

She was getting more and more desperate ploys and ideas of getting him to feed her, without further losing her dignity or something more, when Hermione heard a tap at the door.

It was Antonin, of course. Who else. Certainly not the genie in the bottle or a fairy godmother about to grant her freedom. Things did not work so nicely in the real world.

She immediately sat up from the bed and stared daggers at him though she knew she had nothing more than her eyes to disarm him. She was so completely at this man's mercy.

He could do anything to her, as he had more than proven only hours ago. He could turn her into his play toy and make her do anything he wanted. At the expense of her dignity. Which he had crushed under his boots.

...Yet why did she not feel any fear of him at this moment? Is it because she had no more dignity?

In truth, she realized she was relieved to see him. She'd been worried they might go on like this for hours more til he left inexplicably tomorrow..and then she wouldn't know what to do with herself or the hunger and aching she felt in her body.

However, she tried her best to conceal her relief at seeing his face and stared pointedly as his beard, rather than his eyes, as she tried to imagine one day making him dress in a tutu as she ordered him about and made him do ridiculous things...

"I'm v'sorry," Antonin said.

Wait what?

Her jaw slackened and she stared up at him in shock.

Did Antonin Dolohov, the Russian Death Eater, actually apologize to her? While actually sounding sincere? From his arrogant mouth?

She checked his eyes. Yes, he was sincerely staring at her, a softened kind of laziness or tiredness there.

His hand raised up to scratch sheepishly at his beard.

"I don't v'want to fight anymore," Antonin reluctantly told her. "V'is only our second day of marriage and v'well is not happy."

Hermione tried to close her mouth and cross her arms to look as angry as possible...thought it was nearly impossible that he didn't see the look of relief...on her face.

So he wasn't a complete monster.

Complete being the key word.

But it did not make him Prince Charming either.

"V'well?" he prompted.

Hermione rolled her eyes and made a disgruntled sound, but otherwise ignored him and picked up her book, pretending to read. Was he really complaining about the marriage? What did he expect out of a burlap sack kidnap-order-bride, happily ever after? Her relatives, including Harry and Ron, should've been burning down his cabin by now. The marriage certainly remained unconsummated...which meant legally Dolohov had only one and half more days left before the marriage would be rendered null and void. She looked forward greedily to that third day when she could tell him to get lost.

"I'm sorry I got a bit mean v'with v'you, but v'you were rude to me first."

She yawned at his half-assed apology as she dryly flipped a page of the book while not really reading.

"Are v'you hungry?" he asked more hopefully.

Now her ears perked up though she didn't try to show it. Her eyes stopped halfway on another paragraph about Vronsky. Her hunger was burning through her. As much as she hated Dolohov right now, she was too hungry to not pay him some attention.

She finally looked back up at him. His eyes were irrepressibly sad and red rimmed like he'd cried recently...or accidentally gotten Vodka in his eyes. Either one of the two. Maybe he really did just want to marry her and was upset by her saying she would never be his wife. Ah, the problems of forcing someone else to marry you!

"I'm still not talking to you," she said viciously.

"Let me feed v'you."

"How?" she asked. "Neither one of us has agreed to cook. I certainly won't."

Antonin winked his dark eyes at her. "Just this v'once, since v'you refuse to cook and vyou are not officially my wife yet..."

"Oh for once finally he admitted that she wasn't his wife! Score!" Hermione thought triumphantly. Her harsh words earlier in the day had done their job then.

"...V'well," Antonin continued and cleared his throat, almost embarrassed he was conceding to her will. "Just this v'once I vill order take-away. English like takeaway, da?"

"Da, da," Hermione agreed. "Yes, we English love takeaway and curry and Chinese food and other people's cuisines, as long as we don't have to prepare it ourselves."

"V'well, don't get used to it, ptitsa."

But he grinned at her and Hermione found herself grinning back at him.

"Vait two minutes, ptitsa." He hurried out of the bedroom and when he came back at around six minutes later, a steaming hot pizza sat in a box on their kitchen table.

"How?" Hermione asked, greedily taking in the delicious smell of the large pizza, and trying to not salivate on the floor. She was so hungry she could've eaten a piece of cardboard. But the sight and smell of real pizza was almost too much to take. Heavenly really.

Yet she couldn't imagine there was any pizzeria nearby that delivered to the remote cabin.

Antonin winked at her. "Don't worry how, eat, ptitsa, this is real pizza from Italia."

"You brought this all the way from Italy?" Hermione asked as she bit into a slice, genuinely impressed that Antonin had managed to use his magic or some other portkey to retrieve a fresh pizza from Italy and back to Russia in around six minutes flat. "You do know some good tricks," she said without really thinking, as she grabbed at another slice.

His eyes met hers over the pizza as he watched her eating rabidly in amusement.

"Oh many, I know many many tricks, 'Ermione. You need only ask."

Crap. There was that sexual tension between them again.

Fortify yourself, Hermione, she told herself. Only one more night and day, and you will be free of this burlap-sack-marriage binding.

If only resisting Antonin was as easy as resisting a steaming hot pizza on an empty stomach...both were equally difficult and required the utmost self-control and self-punishment to resist. Hang in there. Hang in there.

But then he caught her off guard again. "V'would you like to see St. Petersburg?"

"Pardon?"

~O~

a/n: oh no i hope i didn't make dolohov too romantic at the end of this, but i dont want him to be a total jerk, especially after his previous stunt.

tho what do u do when the guy you have intense chemistry with is just all wrong for you in every other way? girl run! or stay?

can it ever work with a 'bad' guy?


	26. Chapter 26

~o~

"V'would you like to see St. Petersburg?" Antonin asked with one brow raised. A cheeky grin on his face, as if he were pulling an ace card out of his sleeve.

Hermione stared at him dumbfounded. This was the last thing she expected out of him...'It's almost as if he's trying to be romantic,' Hermione realized with horror. She wasn't used to such behavior coming from Antonin Dolohov; it was rather jarring. Shouldn't he go back to ordering her around and horrifying her by exploiting her boundaries?

Yet how could she not agree? It could be her last chance to escape. She needed to get out of this cabin. And it would be a sad tale indeed, if she escaped Russia tomorrow, only ever having seen the inside of Dolohov's remote cabin and some empty fields.

Without even thinking of what she was agreeing to, Hermione nodded quickly. "Yes, I would like to go." When she saw Antonin's eyes brighten as if this meant she was forgiving him. She quickly frowned. "I mean, I wouldn't mind!" she added more harshly to remind him that she still hated his guts for earlier.

"Good!" Antonin said brusquely, her hatred falling on deaf ears. "V'we go now!" He grabbed her by the hand as his right hand shuffled through his jacket pocket and he walked them towards the front door.

"Wait right now? This instant?" She was wearing a damn pajama shirt with no underwear or pants. Wouldn't she freeze? And also look ridiculous, like a literal  
sex slave, to passerby? Which perhaps she was at this point...or who knows. Antonin was unpredictable.

"Won't I be cold?"

As Antonin swung open the front door of the cabin and the knee high snow presented itself, Antonin threw her a resentful glance over his shoulder. "Okay, I like such outfit on v'you..."

"Oh thanks!" She knew he didn't provide proper clothes this whole time on purpose! Ugh! The pig. "Please I'm cold." She shivered and chattered her teeth dramatically, though she didn't have to pretend she was freezing. She literally was and they hadn't even stepped out in the snow yet to apparate.

Antonin chuckled before reaching into his pocket and removing a small ermine scarf. He wrapped it around Hermione's shoulders before pointing his wand at it. The scarf transfigured into a large fur coat, which was snug enough. But Antonin also waved his wand at her shirt which transfigured into a pretty enough, and warm, purple robes.

"Good?" Antonin asked.

She nodded and he didn't waste one second more to pull her outdoors, slam the cabin's door shut and then remove a portkey from his pocket.

She didn't have time to ask what kind of portkey it was or make plans of how she could steal it from him later, before they disappeared from the spot.

~O~

They arrived again with a flurry of magic and twists of her stomach...no doubt churning the pizza she already had enjoyed a bit too much of earlier. She hoped she didn't throw up.

Hermione recovered for a second...apparation and portkeys always made her slightly nauseous for a few seconds, before she put her feet firmly back on ground.

She stared at the snow beneath her feet for a moment before she noticed there was actual cobblestones underneath the snow here...and civilization.

"Welcome to the v'old Russian capital," Antonin said proudly, as he pulled her up by her elbow.

Though she grew up near and around London, Hermione could not say she was disappointed by the sight of wizarding St. Petersburg. The quaint spirals and mushroom-shaped turets of the buildings had an almost fairytale look to them, like they'd been transported straight from the imagination of the Nutcracker.

With the snow gently falling down on the glowing city, lit with purple and yellow lights, she surely could expect the Sugarplum fairy or tin soldiers to come  
marching up the cobblestone streets.

Hermione looked back at Antonin's eyes. There was a serenity in his eyes that she hadn't seen before, almost relaxed. Snowflakes fell into his long dark hair and his skin looked so porcelain against the cold night air.

"It's beautiful...Like you," she couldn't help thinking though she did not want to give him the satisfaction of saying such traitorous thoughts out loud.

"Ummm...it's alright," she said instead and brushed her hair back behind her ears.

"Da," Antonin grinned. "Let me show v'you the way to the old palaces and then my ancestral home."

Apparently, no amount of her feigned disinterest could discourage him. Dolohov showed a pride here she had never seen before in the rough manners she had grown accustomed to in his cabin.

"V'would v'you like to see Winter Palace?"

"Is it made out of snow?" she joked. Though she knew from the history books that it was made of brick and mortar.

"V'you'll see."

He enthusiastically whisked them to the impressive Winter Palace, whose ornate interiors looked straight out of an Anne Karenina film. White and gold pillars and paintings decorated every inch of the dream like building.

"Can we be here?" Hermione asked in apprehension as her hand traced along a gilded chair in the Tzar's old study. It was surely after hours, like 9pm or whatever timezone in St. Petersburg, shouldn't such a place be closed to the public? Antonin and her were the only ones here.

"Don't v'worry this v'is in the muggle part," Antonin informed her. "V'you didn't think I followed the rules, did v'you?"

"No. of course not. How stupid of me. You're a Death Eater."

"Da!" He rolled his eyes.

A small smile traced along her lips.

Damn it. She hoped he hadn't seen her smile.

She still wanted to stay mad at him. She couldn't let his smouldering eyes or his two small acts of kindness, pizza and St. Petersburg, make her forget the absolute boar he could be.

His behaviour earlier today of making her polish his boots naked...had been so reviling and demeaning...and dammit, for some reason, still made her equally furious and hot under the collar. No man had ever demeaned or ordered her around like that...It had been so unsettling.

A scarlet blush spread over her face.

Antonin noticed her discomfort. "Are v'you okay, ptitsa? Maybe v'you are too v'warm?"

"I'm fine. Thank you." She scratched nervously at the collar of the fur coat as she stared at some of the large oil paintings on the wall of deceased nobles. "Are you related to any of these people?"

"No." Antonin sounded insulted. "These are mudak muggles."

"So you don't actually care about the Russian royals?" She wondered why he bothered to show her this place at all. Why didn't he stuck to the magical districts of St. Petersburg?

"I do care a lot!" he said a bit too aggressively.

She raised her brows at him.

"Why?"

"Because they v'were murdered too."

~O~

a/n: The winter palace is real! never been there but its looks really pretty in the pictures

anyone watch anna karenina? :) thanks so much to everyone who reviewed and read, i think only 6 or so more chapters til this is done!


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